No More of You
by Sweetbriar
Summary: There is a cave. There are faces, there is darkness. And there is blood. I emerge, Awakened. AU "Shadowkiss." Rose POV.
1. Part One

**Disclaimer** : I own nothing of this series.

 **Summary** : AU "Shadowkiss," Rose's POV. "There is a cave. There are faces, there is darkness. And there is blood. I emerge, Awakened."

 **Warnings** : Violence (blood, gore). Non-graphic sexual content. Mental illness (metaphoric, literal). Cursing.

 **Author's Note** : While plot points from the series are brought in or referenced, this story is more of a character study than a plot-driven retelling of the series.

Title from the song "We Live Underground" by Lights On.

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No More of You

::::

* * *

There is a cave. There are faces, there is darkness. And there is blood.

I emerge, Awakened.

* * *

In the mirror my eyes glimmer red. A severe new haircut intensifies my chin's sharpness. I drop the dull knife that hacked the tangled locks off, ridding myself of the hassle. I look older. I look commanding.

Necessary, with this lot of idiots.

They question too much, talk too much, hesitate too long. Without me nothing would be accomplished. I'm surprised they made it this far until I came along.

Nathan leans into the doorway behind me. He seems like someone who would stride his way into a room. The slouch sends a particular message about my position in his group. I have become a valuable member over the past week, once he stopped testing me.

His error. Underestimation would be his undoing. Plenty of people tested me before my Awakening. They saw my age or my body and assumed immaturity. In fact, the only one who never had was—

The thought breaks off, jagged and sharp in my brain. I deny it and turn around.

"Are we almost ready?"

"Nearly." He eyes me, searching for any weakness. Scanning my body, as well, from the heels of my black boots up the lacy edge of a strapless black dress. Its design echoes one of a particular lust-charm infamy. Finding it was intentional.

Done appreciating my skillful armor, he says,"Your information has proven accurate and valuable so far."

I bare my teeth in a grin. A promise. A warning. "Of course it has."

"Come." He turns his back to me. My fingers flex at the temptation. "They're waiting."

I follow.

: : :

The scene is perfect.

The wards are up, but we don't need them to be down tonight. The plan is simple, a show to weaken their morale and make them question their safety. And while Nathan thinks he came up with it all alone, I maneuvered myself to be the mouthpiece. I have my own goals.

Lingering in the shadows, I watch the sparse line—an illusion of greater numbers, hidden—at the gate. Our Awakened troops had created a blockade as the sun's rays disappeared, shocking the Guardian on duty. He squealed in fear: more than one of Nathan's men laughed in response. Now there is a milling of force on the other side of the line.

Unnerved, they posture defensively and attempt to keep their signals hidden. To most of ours, the signals are obscure or old. To my fresh eyes, unknowingly watching, they think we have a way to cross the wards. They are preparing for a siege. Our behavior is unusual enough to demand attention.

My shoulders re-settle, loose, as Guardian Petrov calls out, "You cannot pass the wards. Leave now or face your deaths."

A number of the troops laugh.

Her voice raises a notch higher. "What is your purpose here?"

"Time to deliver," Nathan's cold voice orders, too low for any but me to hear.

Grasping a branch below me, I swing my body in a graceful twist and land in a crouch between the troops and the Guardians. My fingers brush the ground, then my thighs, to straighten my clothes as I rise and balance on the sharp-heeled boots.

A surge of power lies in the way I unsettle all those faces I recognize.

One in particular makes me smile wider. Dimitri's unreadable face is not as emotionless as he thinks. I can read the lines of his shoulders and the curl of his fists. Oh, he does not understand how much more I am now—but he will, eventually.

He is _mine_.

"Purpose?" I call back to Guardian Petrov. How the blood has rushed from her face! "You already know the answer to that," I remind her, striding forward with an exaggerated sway to my hips. "You always knew all of my plans before they even happened." A light breeze ruffles my shortened hair as my toes stop just before the ward line. "Or am I not as predictable anymore?"

A brief silence is interrupted when Guardian Alto sneers, "You aren't going to get to the Princess, Rose." They shift into sterner, fiercer poses.

I tilt my head, a pose of curiosity. "I rather think that's up to Lissa. She's been missing me a lot, right? We don't have to still be separated."

"She'll never—" Guardian Alto begins.

Dimitri interrupts, his accent thicker underneath the flat tone. "What is your message?"

I purse my lips slightly, flutter my lashes. Taunting him, blatant as he'd never let me be pre-Awakened. "Ah, comrade, you still notice things about me no one else does. Why don't you come over here?" He hesitates. "I'll tell you."

The emphasis is clear. He's resolved when he moves forward. Guardian Petrov places a hand on his arm; he makes his case in a quickly muttered exchange. The other Guardians fade into the background as his argument is accepted. My eyes shamelessly drag up his lean, muscular body as he approaches. I remember the feeling of it moving over me, inside me. Oh yes. Mine.

Well-back from the boundary line, he stops. "This is not an attempt to take the Princess. You are not in charge of them," he gestures at the troops, "after… only a few days." A pause. Seething emotion is running underneath his mask.

I smile. He is the brilliant one.

"Your message," he repeats.

"Galina says hello, and that our stalemate in the caves was hardly a defeat for us," I say. My smile widens as his eyes narrow. "Also, thanks for the gift." I wave my hand up and down my own body. "She liked to see all that training passed on to your own student."

Guardian Petrov's face catches my eye for a moment. A snarl curls her lip. The sight is amusing, almost as much as Dimitri's failed attempt to appear unmoved by words from his own former mentor.

Duty done, I slip in a personal message. "And I say that I will have what's mine." A glimmer of understanding crosses his face only for a brief moment.

Still restrained by all that used to keep me back, too, he only says, "We will protect the Princess. Just like you would have wanted."

"And you? Who will protect you, Dimitri?"

A flash of alarm flickers, there and then gone. The Guardians at his back shift marginally. They probably guessed by now what I want, but lucky Dimitri: it looks one-sided. But I know, just like he does, that he is mine. After the cabin, claiming each other's bodies, before my fateful Awakening in the midst of a bloody rescue attempt…there was no way I'd let him go.

He knows that. It settles into the lines of his face.

"You can't leave me behind, comrade," I taunt, turning on my heel.

As much as I favor my new existence, that fact boils in my blood: none of them stayed for me. A desire for vengeance wars with my longing to possess him again. To this, he doesn't say anything.

"Neither can she," I add. "Through Lissa's eyes, there's so much to learn." I pause, glancing over my shoulder to watch their emotional responses. "You should probably call the Queen's plane now. They might be needing…backup."

The plane is still in the air, but not for long. Lissa spoke to the Queen before it took off and knew where it would land. That was all I could tell through the pain of the bond, but it was enough for us to send a group to attack near its location. Collateral damage to start off the game.

My triumphant laugh rings out when they start to panic. I, and my troops, take off at a run— though they will not be so foolish as to follow us out of the safety of their Academy.

But now, they will also be watching Lissa, aware that her eyes might not be her own. Enough pressure on that sore spot and eventually, she will rebel. She will make a mistake that will bring her back into my protective embrace. Awakened beside me, we will be unstoppable.

When she rebels, her Guardian will follow after her. Dimitri will chase his charge right out of the wards, both with his overprotective shadowing and also as he trails behind her in pursuit. He'll walk right into my arms, too.

: : :

Nathan's goal is to bring down the royal houses. My information catapulted his cause further than he'd get with just any Academy student. And in fitting so neatly into his plans, I am able to achieve my own. Motivations that are not entirely out of line with his, simply…unstated. Underneath the surface.

We operate in synchronicity because he thinks I am a strong yet simpering pupil. I allow him to think that the kisses on my throat are exciting, that his touches give him power over my actions.

When I have what is mine, we will leave devastation as we establish our own territory. Lissa, never out of my protection again. Dimitri, finally mine without hesitation or restrictions. This is an intoxicating dream of our future.

The goal keeps me moving through the long days. I train robotically, unceasingly, whenever I am not hunting and feeding or in counsel with Nathan. I also battle through the strange pain of the bond to keep an eye on Lissa's breaking point—a task that becomes harder when she starts to block me from her mind.

My frustration, then, leads me to human nightclubs and the throats of pathetic human males. After a dance or a grind or heavily pawing at my body in a bathroom, they become a meal.

My patience is quickly wearing out when, one day, I am dragged into the pain of the bond and watch through a wavering, unsteady connection as she speaks to someone else who has the glow of a spirit user.

"—save someone—if you charge a stake with—" His voice ripples in and out of audible range.

I snap out of it, hissing and clawing my head to try and ease the bond back into manageable pain. Any displeasing sensation is to be avoided. Yet it is such a useful tool to see into Lissa's mind that I accept her occasional incursions. Never of my choosing, always defying my attempts to block the agony, they are scattered but usually yield promising information.

I stride down the hall to find some grunt to kill, angry that I endured pain for nothing…until I realize that there was a recognizable background behind the man who had spoken to Lissa.

Oh, yes.

: : :

I do not question the tunnels that surround me. The darkness beneath Las Vegas feeds my strength, just like the blood of that runaway I drank less than an hour earlier. Pushing tentatively at the white-hot pain of the bond, I register that Lissa is still in the hotel above. She is surrounded by her friends. Besides Eddie, there is no Guardian with them.

Excellent. She finally ran off.

To my displeasure, Dimitri is not in her party.

I wait and kill one of my cannon fodder companions for breathing too loudly until, finally, a goon comes running full-tilt around the corner. A lookout. "Belikov is on his way," comes panting forth out of his mouth, and I beam in satisfaction. No Guardian would be too far behind a runaway charge, especially if he had some clue of where she was headed.

I grab the lookout by the throat and toss him back in the direction from which he'd come. "Lead me there." We cross two tunnels over and hear the footsteps. I step back and send the troops forward with the order, "Leave him for me."

Sauntering behind the swarm of them, I watch in delight as a handful of Guardians fight back against the assault. Three of mine die before the quartet of Guardians notices me lingering.

Dimitri is the one to see me first, of course.

He does not hesitate in his fight. That's what makes him the most powerful prize: a true warrior, oft compared to a god. I find that is no longer an accurate description. Instead, I liken him to one of the Awakened in his strength and drive. Irresistible.

I call out, "They won't kill you, you know, Dimitri. They have their orders."

He doesn't reply, but his next strike breaks a grunt's arm. They shriek and fall away.

I click my tongue. "Now, temper, temper." He'll be healed of that flaw he always struggles with once he joins me. "No need to be so eager."

Tired of waiting, I twist behind a lackey, using him as cover. Lunging underneath a flung arm, Dimitri turns to protect his far side from the lackey's punches and loses his line of sight on me. I sweep low to the floor, wait until he's dispatched the one he fought, and only then launch myself onto his back. My arms and legs wrap around his torso. In his ear, I whisper, "I'm right here."

The scent of his throat is intoxicating.

My indrawn breath comes out harshly as he slams us both back into the wall. The move squeezes my ribs close to crushing and my arms flex involuntarily. Pain triggers a hissing growl that let loose across his neck. My limbs fall and he is away in an instant, turning, ready to strike again.

Between my rage and disappointment at the loss of such pleasure, I almost don't lift my arms quickly enough. One wrist knocks a stake out of his hand. It clatters away to the floor, lost in the melee. Contact with it burns my hand.

My pained hiss exposes my fangs: I see him look, but his next punch doesn't waver. Infuriated, I snarl, "Why can't you just accept me? It's always been like this with you, always denial."

He doesn't answer. His expression is stone.

I swing a fist at him again. This time he's the one to barely block it. I remind him, "You cannot erase the fact that you belong with me. That was decided in the cabin. I will not give up what is mine."

His lips part, briefly, as he ducks my arm.

"Say it," I demand. My leg swings high in a kick that he ducks easily. "Don't hold back on me, now, comrade— _say it_."

Still he refuses.

I could pour on the anger, but instead, I realize that he is trying to trap me against the other Guardians. Many of my troops have been taken down, to my good fortune: I am able to maneuver my way over a staked body and use more as cover to retreat.

We make it a tunnel over before my desire wins out.

Just ahead of him, I pivot and pause, stretching my body against the wall, leaning as though I have not been running, arching my chest to show off the curves barely concealed under silky fabric.

Dimitri does not disappoint, his single-minded pursuit turning into slow pacing as he takes in my pose. His eyes flash about the tunnel, searching for a vantage point or trap.

He's the best, and he knows me. I'll forgive him for not following because of that.

"I suppose Lissa will just have to remain out of your reach."

That finally sparks his full and intent focus on me, and me alone. Awareness surges back into his eyes where I had not seen it lacking. "Where is she?"

I grin. "He speaks."

"The Princess," he demands, edging forward. "What have you done with her?"

Looking up and down the length of his glorious body, I purr, "You know what I want, and that's what I'll have before you see her again."

He stands still and silent. I lounge against the wall, breathing deeply and evenly to calm the raw energy that coursed through my body. When he's thought for long enough, I add, "She's been enjoying our company." And lick my lips, a blatant lie.

Dimitri's expression settles into a grim resolve. I say nothing more to encourage him, knowing his perception of honor will not allow him to do anything else, knowing his sense of responsibility will not allow him to take the risk. "Allow my companions to leave unharmed," he says. "And I will go with you to the Princess."

I push away from the wall. "Oh, they'll have taken care of those useless lackeys by now. They're fine."

"Then you need no bargain from me," he says slowly. The stoic mask is not enough to conceal his quickly-strategizing mind. "Just me. That's what you want."

My smile turns fully suggestive, promising, as I stride toward him.

Jarred from contemplating my behavior, he reaches for a stake. This is when he realizes that he had never retrieved it when I knocked it away. He was too rushed to come after me. The knowledge lights fear in his eyes—an emotion that makes me feel like soaring.

So I do, right into him.

His body is rigid as I pin him to the wall. Arms corded tightly with muscle resist my superior strength at his arms are pinned to his sides. He remains rigid as I nuzzle his chest, appreciating his scent. Restrained power courses through his veins.

"Must you be so eager to see her?" I murmur. "It's been so long since I saw you."

My lips press against his collarbone. I part his shirt with one hand to continue a trail down his chest.

"I am not here for this," he says. "Take me to the Princess."

The catch in his voice betrays him. While he clings to memories of a damaged, pre-Awakened version of me, I know the power of my own body.

"There's no reason we can't have a little fun on the way…"

"There are many," comes between gritted teeth at a near-whisper. As if he meant not to say it aloud, the words echo all the restraint he possesses.

But I do have a timeline, and have no care for holding back when being Awakened means I can have whatever I want. And while some of my troops are in place to secure the Princess they have not yet done so. I need to restrain my Dimitri before that happens.

So I trail my lips up to his ear to whisper, "One more thing."

I wait long enough for him to give in. There is no sweeter sound that his rough reply. "What?"

"How could your forget your own first lesson?"

He is a trained warrior, oft described as a god of combat. Rough fingers sink into my waist as soon as the last syllable has left my lips: while his mind is processing the implications of words, his body knows how to react to a threat. His body does not react in time.

My fangs pierce his neck. I am not comfortable when I gulp down a first draw of his blood, my stronger body fighting against being pushed away. But on the second sip I am curled back into his chest. My palms cradle his face and his body slackens against the wall, slowly sliding down until I am straddling his crumpled legs.

One hand sneaks into his duster to remove the cell phone that could also be used to track him.

I release him after five sips, licking the wound to staunch the bleeding. When I lean back, his expression is serene. I have no memory from my former life to compare it to, but I want more of it. I'm pleased that it will be seen again.

Now that I have part of what's mine.

: : :

The other Guardians find Lissa before my lackeys, which costs another one his head. But I have one of my prizes and that consoles me for a few days.

He is dazed most of the time. I keep him that way, admiring the way the lines on his face smooth out, how his strong muscles belie soft skin on his arms and torso. Two nearby goons carried him into my quarters and another brought the chains that I use as an extra precaution, but ever since, none have entered my small territory. Not even Nathan, who thinks I have my own personal food bank stored safely away and doesn't care because I keep letting him kiss me.

The chains turn out to have been quite necessary when Nathan makes a call and I end up away for a day.

When I re-enter our shabby base in the desert outskirts of Las Vegas, I pause in front of my ramshackle hole. A door had been fashioned and it works quite well. No one lingers by other's territories here, he's not been bothered. But I know what will be behind that door.

My fingers tug down the hem of my tank top until it matches the edge of my bra. My jeans are practically painted on, so I don't fuss with them. I ruffle my hair with one hand.

Sure enough, clarity has returned to his eyes. They track me as I enter the room, exhaustion not dampening the quiet anger tumbling about with sadness and guilt. These last two were so familiar before my Awakening that it is almost like a comfort to see again.

He lies on the bed, face-up, arms spread wide and tied to the tops of the headboard, and legs straight out. "Good morning," I smile, slipping off my shoes and climbing onto the bed. I swing one leg over his torso, settling my weight securely over his hips. "You've been asleep a long time."

He remains as rigid against me as he had in the tunnels. I roll my hips as I settle over his body, twining my fingers through his hair. He's not unaffected, the tightness in his jaw indicating that he thinks he knows my next move.

But I have something else in mind. His wrists are bruised under the chains but not, I had seen, nearly enough. My hands settle on his biceps. I squeeze, slowly, until the undeniable pressure causes his eyes to crease at the corners in pain.

I laugh. "Too weak to lash out, yet?" Releasing his arms, I flick the broken manacles open. His arms flop down to the mattress weakly. "I thought you'd have tried to escape by now. It tells me something, that you haven't."

He remains unmoving and watchful.

I sit up, looking at him spread out beneath me. "You've accepted me, at least enough to stay. I'm grateful for that," I tell him, caressing his cheek. "I knew you wanted to be with me."

No change.

"Lissa's fine," I tell him, tapping my head with my other hand. "Your companions got to her first."

He's not fast enough to hide the flicker of surprise. It's quickly buried underneath anger.

"No, I didn't have her when we met in the tunnels. Funny. I used to think you could always tell when I lied," I murmur, tracing his cheek. "But then, I used to think you were perfect. Now I see what more we both could be."

Nothing.

My mouth twists into a frown, but I brush it off when my fingers skim down his chest. "Well, I may not have her, but that's okay—I have half of what's mine right here." Leaning forward, I remind him, "I'll have her, too."

"You won't."

Finally. I listen to his raspy voice with relish. "Oh?"

He commits to breaking his silence. "She will stay safe. You have no more leverage."

"I have you."

A faint smile comes to his lips and fades quickly back into smooth certainty. "No one will risk themselves to get me back. They believe I am already gone."

His eyes reveal what he has not said aloud. "So do you," I say. "Oh, Dimitri. You won't be gone when you're Awakened. Just more than now. And it will happen when you agree to be mine."

"I thought you were certain I already was yours?" he questions.

"First, you need to admit it. Ask me for it," I tell him, exposing my fangs in a wide smile. "We can have the world. No one would stop us from being together. Think about what it was like before—always looking over our shoulders, knowing the Academy instructors would think our relationship was wrong. If I hadn't been Awakened, what would our future have been? Moroi not allowing us, dhampirs judging us. Others telling us what we could not be. Awakened, we can live our own lives on our own terms, not forced to let each other go for careers. For supposed friends who wouldn't understand."

He shakes his head. "Since when has another's opinion stopped you from doing what you believed in? This is how I know you are no longer the same Rose. You believed in that job, in that purpose. Your best friend was your life, and you were hers."

Incensed at his dismissal of my better self, I snap, "No. She wasn't. Because she never even knew about you. It wasn't allowed. Well, no one can tell me who to be with or what to want anymore. And I know what I've always wanted: you. All that's left is for you to finally have the courage to want it, too." I lean towards him, my body on display, and purr, "Choose me, Dimitri. For once, choose to be mine."

My strong warrior. My willing co-captain. My treasured possession.

His jaw clamps tightly and refuses to open again. Patiently, I give him time for his brain to consider the possibility before I simply grow too full of desire for his body.

I nuzzle his throat. His pulse leaps, body craving what he refused to ask for the whole time I hovered over him. Catching a glimpse of his eyes, I see longing and guilt twisted with anger. A delightful cocktail. My lips touch his skin and his chin tilts upwards in response.

And I send us both back into pleasure.

: : :

For nearly a week, he receives the same offer when he is conscious.

For nearly a week, he refuses to speak a word to me. His body betrays him, offering up that thick throat without hesitation the second I stroke it with fingers or lips. Warring emotions always dance across his face. But that is all that he gives me.

I know him and I know he is mine. He wants me. That was foundational to our entire existence together, to every moment in each other's presence.

He'll choose, soon.

: : :

The next time Nathan calls me away for a day, I think nothing of it.

I return to an empty room.

Two idiots had not stopped Dimitri's escape. He left them crumpled in the hallway as he made his weakened way out. Not weakened enough, clearly.

They never regain consciousness as I rip their throats out.

: : :

I track him, of course. He makes his way swiftly west, and eventually I catch enough of his trail to realize that he has contacted Guardians for refuge. Before he makes it to them, the bond spikes its way into my brain and I hear Lissa receive that news.

"—need to pick him up," says Eddie, his phone held up in front of his face.

Our eyes rove to the right, landing on another face. Christian's expression blurs but he nods. Her emotions batter me—anxiety, hope, determination—and she declares, "We'll meet them, too."

"What? But Lissa, you're not sure if—"

"We have to try!" Desperation reeks out of her pores and I feel less pressure from the bond as it seeps with that emotion's darkness. "I have to try. It's her, it's—"

The bond pulses and I am left hissing and clawing at my head to regain my sense of self. That last emotion she felt was the opposite of darkness. Poison in my head.

But…all is not lost. I may, in fact, have been granted the rest of my desires.

Instead of snatching Dimitri back immediately, I linger outside of his temporary shelter. The motel is old, isolated, and closer to Court than I'd dared venture yet. But that wouldn't have stopped me.

I could barely stop myself now. Not when rage boiled in my gut at his audacity—to leave me when he was mine, to escape after I'd made my offer, to reject my wishes…

No. He would either be mine or be no more.

: : :

Lissa and her companions arrive just after the Guardians did. The two groups meet in the parking lot—a distraught reunion. My Dimitri's body is weakened, my marks on his throat all too obvious, but he grants Lissa a small, genuine smile.

I am too far away to hear, but from their body language I make educated guesses. Guardian Alto rants at her about safety. They talk about their imminent departure for a safer area.

Then Lissa hugs him, her fingers inexplicably clutching a stake. My veins boil. They are both mine but no one can touch him, not even her! I do not want to wait anymore. Now is the time.

My lackeys surge forth and the parking lot below is thrown into chaos.

Guardians clash with my troops, the Moroi are clustered into the center, and Dimitri is in the midst of it. He fights like none of his power has been drained away. He fights like my troops intend to kill him. He fights like he knows I am coming.

The road-weary Guardians begin to falter. None are dead yet, though some of mine are. But the important thing is that they are being drawn away from the defenseless Moroi. Specifically, from those that are mine.

Another lackey dies and I decide it's time. I leap from the roof, repeating my first re-introduction by ascending from up high into the fuss below.

I tuck and roll, coming up swinging with one fist in a pointed claw. The claw drives into a Guardian who is about to win over yet another of my idiot goons. It goes in under his ribcage. The momentum carries my extra strength deep into the chest cavity and through the mass of squishy internal organs I take a firm grip of one that is usually protected by the sternum.

A couple of my meals have been my practice in finding hearts, just for the sight. Ripping out this Guardian's, I let the blood splatter, unstoppered. A glorious scent.

Lissa screams my name.

The rage from Dimitri's escape fuels every sharp movement. I drop the heart and my bloody hand claws into the eyes of another Guardian who did not see me. Then I duck under their reflexively flung arm, grabbing and twisting it and relishing in the sharp snap. A glance from the corner of my eye shows another lackey is about to fall under another Guardian stake and I pivot—

Guardian Alto blocks me and I snarl as I swipe a stake away. It burns my fingertips through the blood coating. "Get out of my way!"

He does not reply.

So many from my past life do not seem to like replying to me.

A duck, a twist, a turn, a lethal dance—until I kick him in the ribs and smirk at the crunch. He crumples, unable to breathe, but his eyes remain focused on me under a totally emotionless mask. Circling him as he struggles to remain upright, I snarl, "Oh, I will enjoy this."

He rises to his knees, coiling to strike, but I am absolutely filled with a thrill of power. I remember every moment of humiliation I felt in his classes and I know another heart will be in my hand shortly.

Except.

The bond. A spike, the way it sometimes does, the way that does not signal an imminent connection. It's like a throbbing pulse that I shove away—or did, when Lissa was not feet away from me.

Light stabs me from the inside.

My knees crunch into the asphalt. The asphalt is all I see for a blank, gray moment. A scream rings out, my scream. It ebbs just enough for me to lift my head. "Cut—that—out!"

My heart aches oddly at the sight of Lissa's startled green eyes. Spirit shines around her hand and the bond throbs again.

Something is cracking. The light changes around me.

Her wide eyes flare with determination. So, too, does the Spirit around her hand.

I clutch my head and scream.

This is not the same feeling. This is—this is feeling. I feel my heart. The rage has dimmed. I feel fear.

All is terror.

My eyes open again to faces that I know but don't recognize, to eyes that shine in awe and shock and panic and hope. To a world that suddenly has true color in it, and a best friend who looks like her heart is breaking in front of me. Green eyes pin me in place and Lissa's voice sobs, "Rose?"

"Stop it. Stop it!" That's my voice. I can hardly tell through the warped sound and the way my entire body hums in pain. "It hurts! _Stop_ it!" Why are those blurred faces only staring at me? Why aren't they—

 _Awakening._

 _A cabin surrounded by snow._

 _Blood._

 _A stake in the wards._

 _Bodies._

 _A cave and a blond Strigoi._

 _Dimitri._

No.

No. Pain is clarity.

 _What am I?_

But I already know the answer to that, and it is terrifying.

I am more frightened than I ever thought I could be. And through my hazy eyes I see Lissa standing too close, holding silver in her glowing hand.

"Stop me!" Why haven't they stopped me? Clawing at my head, I shriek, "Lissa! Stop _me_!"

 _Kill me._

 _While I'm still me._

The glow dims. As it recedes, that gaping pit of darkness inside me boils anew and I scream all the louder.

Light returns, searing. Bright beyond vision, washing me almost back into myself, until something pierces my back and…

I…

am…

released.

: : :

The world returns in stages.

Tears are on my cheeks. They seep under my closed eyelids. Dull pain ripples through my mouth. And my muscles. And my head. But there is relief as well, and the constant nag of an underlying symptom is gone.

The bond does not hurt me anymore.

This is when I feel her hands on my back. They clasp me in an embrace and I realize that my knees press awkwardly into the asphalt. Loose pieces dig into my shoulder where it rests nestled against her knee. My head rests on subtly strong thighs.

Keening cries vibrate my skull. Are they my own? I can't be sure. I think they are mine.

There is movement around us. There are voices around us. We cannot stay here forever, no matter that I can feel her hands clawing into my back to try to keep me cradled to her.

I do not resist as other hands drag me away.

Because the physical pain has not erased my memory.

 _Opening my eyes and craving blood, smiling at the blond who had done this to me._

 _The cabin at the Academy, in one last glimpse back as we leave behind our intimacy._

 _Ripping a stranger's throat open in an alleyway, using my hips to keep him pressed to the wall._

 _My hand ripping through skin, organs, and muscle, grasping a heart—and pulling it out._

 _Dimitri lying on an unkempt bed, throat bared and eyes mere slits in an endorphin rush._

 _No…_

They haul me away and I dangle in their grip.

: : :

Time passes, then. I cannot tell how much.

Around me is a bare, dark cell. At least, it seems dim to me. My eyes were much sharper not too long ago. Now all they can follow are places where the walls meet. Long clean lines, predictable.

Most of the time I am curled into my safe corner. This is where I can't hurt anyone.

Lissa comes to visit. The bond is blocked on my end—I had lots of practice before returning to sanity—so I cannot see what she is up to outside of my cell. Or see myself through her eyes, monster that I am.

But she does not let me ignore her.

"You need to eat something."

"Stand up, come on. Walk with me."

"Tilt your head back so the water doesn't run into your eyes."

"Say something," she whispers every time before she leaves me to my half-eaten meal, listless legs, and clean body. This is the one command I do not comply with, besides not looking directly at her. She does not command that one of me, yet.

My mother also appears. More than once, there's a man I do not recognize—or look closely at—who comes with her to the cell door. They do not enter, or try to, and I do not answer them. I barely hear their voices.

There are other friends I recognize—Eddie, Christian, Mia, Adrian—but I cannot speak to them, either. I do not listen to them.

Twice, there are dreams vastly different from my usual nightmares. Adrian seems to be in them, reaching for me, his voice beseeching, but I cannot respond there either.

My own reasons for remaining closed off are unclear even to me. I want to scream and cry and throw myself into everyone's arms, to beg for hugs and tender touches of friendship and love.

I also want to stop existing.

Ghostly hands claw at my arms occasionally, and I let them. The faces of the dead drift in front of my eyes—not just Mason, who sometimes seems to block others from coming near me. I see the casually-slaughtered grunts whose necks I snapped because I _could_ , who I didn't even have a pretense of duty to kill. Even if they were Strigoi like me, I killed them for a surge of power it gave me.

Worse, I see the human men, whose names I cannot remember and who died for my bloodlust. I _murdered_ them. And I see Dimitri—

I crush those memories.

I am crushed by guilt.

: : :

One day, Guardian Alberta Petrov earns my docile compliance as she pulls me out of the safe corner where no one will be hurt. She brings me to a chair, voice cradling me like a baby blanket. She's been in my life longer than any other adult at the Academy: it's impossible not to feel a hint of comfort from being in her presence, little as I deserve it.

There are always several Guardians outside my cell. Their numbers increase whenever anyone visits me. Today, only one extra waits at the door to the cell. I comply because I am afraid to see that broad-shouldered figure standing so close.

Compliance is only evident in my stillness. What she wants remains a mystery. It is hard enough to be out of my corner: hearing her words would be extra difficult. My worry erupts when I register Alberta sighing. My eyes flicker to her face. She is looking over her shoulder.

I tune in to hear, "—that we haven't."

"We have already discussed this. I am sure."

A jolt of pain and pleasure spirals down my spine at the sound of his voice.

"She's still not—"

"That is exactly why."

Alberta is moving to stand when I whisper, "No."

She freezes. Her eyes meet mine and suddenly, reality seeps back into my world. Shadows sharpen. She has too many emotions for me to decipher, but I do see exhaustion and hope. "Rose?"

"No," I repeat, throat dry from the first word I've spoken in too long. "Not him."

Sadness replaces the hope. "You do not want to speak to Guardian Belikov?" she tentatively asks, body tensed and leaning toward me.

"Not him." My hands are cramping from the grip I've got on the table. Her eyes flicker down to them, then back to my face. From the look on her face, she's seriously considering my plea.

"Roza." Him.

This what does it. I fling myself back from the table and, in the sudden rush of sound and bodies reacting, I scramble into my safe corner.

This is where I can't hurt anyone. This is where I can't hurt anyone…

"Belikov, stay where you—"

"I might be able to—"

My hands clamp over my ears but reality has returned and it is sharp and already I know I cannot ignore it again. It is too present. My eyes close in vain. I can feel the coldness of the air around me. I can hear more than one uneasy shuffle of boots.

"You're causing this reaction."

"But she is reacting."

A new voice interjects: "This is the most responsive she's been. We might get some answers, one way or another, if he tries."

I don't want to hear them arguing. I don't want to hear his voice. I have to stay here in the corner and they have to go away. He has to leave.

Careful, large footsteps come closer to me and I huddle back to keep myself untouchable. His feet stop too close. I can sense the hulking mass of someone larger than me lowering to my level, and his scent gives him away.

My lips tremble. "This is where I can't hurt anyone…"

"You won't hurt anyone, Roza." That beautiful voice is soft and tragically sad.

How would he know? "Leave. Now."

"We are glad to hear your voice again," he says. "We've been worried."

"Why?" comes strangled out of my throat. My hands form claws around my head. "No. It's not safe. You. Go away."

"If you need me to, I will. But tell me why. Rose. Why me?"

Because the last time I smelled his scent, it was with my nose pressed to his neck—while _he_ —while _I_ —

"You could have died. I _bit_ you. I hurt you. You _should_ have died." My voice is almost too loud, and I hear an uneasy cough somewhere behind his looming shadow. His impossible shadow. "Why didn't you join their faces?"

"Whose faces?"

"All of them, all the faces all the _faces_ all the faces—" My clawed nails dig in to release some of the pressure. Some pressure eases when pain erupts in my scalp. "There are so many faces—"

"Breathe. Rose, breathe." I feel hands lightly brush my own.

" _I killed them!_ "

My shout ricochets around the cell. Wetness eases down my fingertips, soothing. For a long moment, there is no sound but the echo of my nightmare, until he reaches out again.

"Roza, no. You're bleeding." Large, impossible-to-fight hands rip mine away from where they are helping.

I scream.

It is a high keening, one that sounds beyond me. One that makes my throat tremble at the pitch and how long it goes and how my ears ache at the desperation I am releasing into the air. But it's not enough, because my hands are still held captive so I have to let it out. Tossing my head back into the rough wall helps with little jolts until my back is no longer in the safe corner. Sobs and pleas pour out—

"—no I killed them I hurt you so many bodies please no—"

—as a solid, warm mass presses to my back. Along my sides, too, wrapping around my wrists and keeping the wet tips of my hands away from my body. I think I am twisting against this immovable grip. Trying to escape. But all I can feel are the violent explosions of air from my lungs and the way my throat is quickly filling with pain. And all I can see are the faces.

So many broken, bloody faces.

: : :

I don't stop for a long time.

: : :

Eventually, I run out of air. My arms have long ceased straining against their hold. I must have devolved into crying at some point, based on how my eyes feel.

He turned me within his grasp: my face is tucked into his shoulder, and I can smell him. I wrack in shuddering breaths. My breakdown has an audience, I realize. They've kept their distance, but they still are there at the entrance to the cell.

He transfers my wrists into one of his hands. The other carefully strokes my hair.

My short hair, hacked off with a blunt blade. My former pride, discarded on a whim and brutal practicality. It barely touches my shoulders now.

Throat raspy, I croak, "How the fuck can you be comforting me after what I did?"

I'm almost disappointed when he doesn't admonish me for my language choices. It would have felt like normalcy. But my heart skips a beat when he does say, "Because none of your actions were your own."

"I remember every second of it," I argue.

"And if you were in your right mind, it would not have happened. That is what your…condition did to you."

"I'm a monster."

"You are not." His voices strengthens from soothing to commanding. "You are yourself again. You are Rose. Not the being who created those memories."

I bite my lip to hold back another sob. "I don't believe you," I whisper. "I can't. What I _did_ …"

He hesitates, then lowers his head so that he can speak to my ear. In front of his colleagues shifting uncomfortably in front of my cell, he whispers, "I love you anyway, Roza."

That does it. The tears return.

Gentler, but still flowing freely, I hide my face in his shoulder and the faintest flicker of warmth comes into existence. Until it appeared, I had not realized that all I could feel were the darkest of emotions—rage and despair and apathy.

Now, a tiny trickle of sadness has joined them, and though it's hardly the lightest of emotions, it breaks through the fog like a light mist. Sadness is lighter. Like the difference between being crushed under a rock, and swaddled in a heavy blanket. The sadness does not free me, but it is a better emotion to feel than what was keeping me under not too long ago.

My bout of tears has faded when he finally hauls me to my feet. Knees wobbling, I make it to the chair with his assistance. I'm reluctant to let him go, but I have enough presence of mind to remember why he would have whispered his confession.

Her eyes are turbulent. She smiles at me and presses a glass of water into my hands. "Rose. You're back."

I mimic her trembling smile. It gives my face something to do. "I suppose so."

: : :

Once I am confirmed among the living again, we figure out that Nathan has been staked. I give them what I know of Galina's other plans, which is not much. Attack royal families, use humans to get around their limitations, lead by intimidation.

If I could give them more it might even have seemed worth suffering.

Nathan's death is a tiny consolation prize.

: : :

Sunlight on my face. A simple joy of life.

Joy, as an emotion, is still beyond me right now. But I do like the warmth, so I accept lying in the grass with my face tilted back as a small step towards rebuilding myself.

Even though I'm in my pajamas, I don't care about being in the middle of the school courtyard. There are no students out and about right now, not during the daylight hours. There are more Guardians patrolling than usual, but they trust me to be myself now. They watch more because they fear what I might do to myself, rather than what I might do to others.

Grass feels tingly under my fingers. Tiny blades rustle under my fingers and I count them, slowly.

I've made a little arc feeling out one-hundred and twenty-seven by the time I hear brooding feet approach. "Hey, Comrade." My eyes stay closed.

"You won't be able to do your best in class if you keep this up," he gently scolds.

Scolding makes me feel like curling up into a ball. I haven't admitted that to anyone yet, and refuse to let myself be so weak. Instead, I sigh loudly. "They shouldn't have let me back yet."

"Is that what's bothering you?"

My head tilts down slightly to protect my throat. "They should have kept me in the cell."

"You are not a criminal," he repeats, echoing a past argument. An edge in his tone makes me shiver. It is anger: I don't do anger so well anymore, either. It's enough to make me peek one eye open. That's all I can allow myself, a single glimpse of his stoic face. He's crouched beside me, making eye contact the instant my eye opens.

No, his anger is not directed toward me. Seeing that relaxes me. I allow myself a lingering moment before shutting the eye again.

"We both know how dangerous I am," I murmur.

"Only when you were not yourself. But you are no longer dangerous, at least not to others." He sits down. "Show me."

I lift my arm robotically. He takes my hand. This is routine: he scrutinizes my fingernails for any lingering blood, then flips my arm and looks for any mark. Repeat with other arm. Finish by checking my scalp for any fresh wounds.

That part always makes me feel cared for, cherished. Those emotions are still foreign to my healing soul. I've graduated to happiness now, but more subtle emotions wildly fluctuate in and out of my grasp.

His fingers linger in my hair, which has grown to my shoulders. I still mourn the loss, and I think he does, too. To me, it's a clear symbol of the damage I did to myself, to who I used to be. Just as symbolically, it is growing back pretty quickly.

I pull away and sit up, letting my eyes open. I can bear to look at his hands. One of them rests on his leg and I take it in my own. I trace his nails, his knuckles, the width of his palm. His wrist. I rub where the bruising had appeared in our horrid shared memory.

He twists our fingers together. Our touch is concealed between our bodies and by his duster. "Stop lingering in this guilt, Roza," he says, a commanding tone underlying the plea.

An older version of me would have bristled at that, but this version has seen his growing frustration. "Why do you keep coming back?" I ask.

"Because I am not one for you to feel guilt about," he replies. "There is no need for it. I forgave you almost as soon as it happened."

If I look into his eyes, I will see if he is being honest. "But you can't forgive me for all those people I killed."

"No. I cannot. You have to do that for yourself."

"There were so many," I whisper. Why I can say this in the brightness of the afternoon sun is a mystery, but not since that first scream in my old cell have I mentioned it. Somehow it spills out. "So many bodies. I can still see their faces. And if I let my guard down, their spirits come to me."

"Rose—" One palm cradles my face.

I remain stiff, seeing those dark flickers in front of my eyes again. "I'd lure them away, you know. Use my body. Most of them were guys at clubs, human guys with no clue and one too many drinks. And I used that against them, danced with them, led them out, let them—do all sorts of stuff. With me. Before they died." I shook my head. "Before I killed them."

He says nothing, just strokes my cheek with his thumb. Somehow that convinces me where no words ever did. He did not flinch when I spoke. His hand remained firm and steady.

When I look at his face I see what I both hoped for and dreaded. I see sadness and pain. But I also see what I think might be love.

I haven't felt love again yet. There's a broken piece of me that needs mending first. Only once that's healed could I even think of seeing if we were still a possibility.

My eighteenth birthday passed during my time Awak—as Strigoi. I hadn't marked the day at all. He would have, though—I know him well enough to know he would have marked that day in some way. Acknowledged what had been lost. For me and for us.

My palm is against his cheek without me realizing I want to touch him. He drops his hand to my shoulder in surprise, but acceptance flashes across his face when I nudge his chin gently.

He turns his head to expose his throat to me. This is the first time I have seen the damage with my own eyes. Scars nestle there: small, clearly from fangs, but fading and pink. The sheer trust astounds me. If I doubted his words or his eyes, I couldn't anymore. Any lingering blame would not have let him allow me to turn his head like this again. Tears trickle from my eyes.

Thumbing them away, he says, "Can we go inside?" Underlying the question is an admittance, a plea: he cannot hold me the way he wants to out here, with Guardian patrol eyes watching.

I nod.

He stands first, helps me up with one hand. Then we establish personal space. I curl my arms around myself and wipe away the last of the tears. He watches me carefully, one hand on my shoulder as support and guide.

Guardians nod to us as we pass. Seeing him comfort me is no unfamiliar scene. Seeing me cry is no longer unfamiliar, unfortunately. Returning to classes is recent—as in, tomorrow will be the day I am brought back into the novice ranks. We're all waiting to see how I handle it.

I led us back to my dorm, and he escorts me inside. He walks beside me to my room. Everyone is asleep, of course, so no one sees him linger in my doorway before stepping in.

The door closes. His arms lift me, secure, surrounded, and I surrender to this warmth pressed and around me.

While one might easily mistake this as a sexual encounter, we know we're not ready to leap back into that. Our connection is clearly not platonic, though: we hold each other like lovers, clearly too full of romantic care to bear any witness.

He strokes my hair, cradles me to his chest, rests his chin on my shoulder. And I curl my arms around him, on my very toes though he holds most of my weight, and sink into the feeling of being totally surrounded.

Held like this, it feels like nothing bad will happen again. Even if it's a lie, it's a lie I want to believe.

When we finally break apart, he cups my face between his hands. I lift my eyes to him, though it is hard, in response to his unspoken request.

That maybe-love shines on his face. "You can refuse me at any time, you know," he says. "Just not out of guilt."

My lips crack into a smile. "Why would I refuse you?"

"It's been a while since you've looked me in the eye for long," he reminds me. A faint crease of concern appears.

I smooth it with my thumb. "I'm scared a lot, now," I admit. "And it's hard to look at you—"

"Without remembering," he finishes, remembering an earlier confession.

"But I'm…healing."

And that expression must be joy.

He pulls me back to my bed, tucks me in despite my grumbles. Then he lays on top of the covers, letting me curl my body into his the way I wish. One arm holds me close, and the opposite hand curls into mine.

"If I were permanently damaged," I being to ask.

"I'm not leaving," he cuts me off.

"Not even if—"

"You will never be rid of me, even if only as your mentor. If that becomes what you need from me."

"I'll always need you," I whisper. "There won't be a time in my life when I will not, Dimitri."

But I cannot say in what role anymore. Not when he keeps finding me with small wounds I give myself. Not when I wake up shrieking from nightmares. Not when I keep slowly rediscovering emotions—and losing them again. And I know he hears that silence as he presses a kiss to my forehead.


	2. Part Two

**Disclaimer** : I own nothing of this series.

::::

Part Two

::::

"Look at this book," Lissa says, waving the pages under my nose. "It is ridiculous that the library has kept anything so decrepit around for so long!"

"I'm sure there are books in worse conditions," Christian says drily, lifting a crumpled page of his own textbook vertically.

"My mother's name was on the check-out card!"

"Might that have been intentional?" Eddie asked, a frown creasing his forehead. "To keep something that has her name on it. Should we look into it?"

"That seems unlikely," I input, conscious of my volume.

Lissa rolls her eyes, but smiles brightly at me. "I think it's a case of poor book-keeping, and come on, Eddie—it's a library book, no one has time to come up with brilliant plots like making me check out a book she once did."

"If anything, it just shows how alike you were," I add.

There's a funny silence, the kind that always comes with mentioning dead parents. For a second, I wonder if I've forgotten some important part of interacting with my best friend. But through the bond's glowing warmth, I only feel nostalgic sweetness and scabbed-over grief.

"Yeah, we were," she replies, her smile becoming distant.

Christian's arm curls her closer. Our eyes meet for a moment and he doesn't give me a threatening look, so I know he sees that this remembrance is a good one.

Eddie tosses me a second orange. "You need to catch up with calories," he says when I open my mouth. "Don't argue."

"I can take care of myself," I grouch back, but begin eating it anyway.

Tactfully, none of them mention the bandage around my wrist that is all-too-visible. The temperature is too warm for me to get away with long sleeves.

Eddie casually checks his watch. "Should we head over yet?" he asks.

"Sure, why not? We're about done." Lissa stands and we follow.

The church is mostly empty of congregants. Still, I linger by the door, then slide into a seat that is in a last row in a far corner near the side exit.

My friends pause only for a moment. Then they continue on with Lissa, who granted me neither a glance back or hesitation on her way to her usual seat. She knows me that well. Also, we had that talk a few weeks ago.

As the church slowly fills, I concentrate on my breath to stop adrenaline from taking off with me. Only one other person has taken a seat in my aisle, having shown up minutes after my friends had settled in their own.

Dimitri is one arm's length away. Ensuring my space. Ensuring that I have back-up.

The sermon washes over me. None of it interests me. My eyes stay mostly on Lissa's head, acting as a Guardian—even though I am not sure I can still be one. Not until my next examination.

My progress in classes has kept me in the running. Alberta assured me earlier that I would be accepted as long as I passed the Trials: this has not dissolved my doubts. Plus, my mentor's word counts for a lot.

He looks stoic beside me. I split my attention between him and Lissa halfway through the service. Both have always been more full of faith than me. Being in church has never seemed a chore to either.

I wish I could believe like him, like Lissa. That I could find strength in something greater than us. It would make me more secure.

Instead, they are where I place all my faith.

Since I returned from my hellish Awakened existence, I have struggled. Figuring out how I could be and how to be alive again is an uphill battle. My best friend had taken to caring for me in ways that the old version of Rose would have hated. I remember those days in the cell, when she actually forced me to bathe, helped me to eat. Such kindness and care, and I will never be able to thank her enough.

Dimitri led me to, and led me through, my breakdown and re-entrance to reality. This man whose love helped heal me, whom I could now feel—like a flickering candle flame—a resurgence of tender, bewildered love for in return, still stays at my side. Even after what I did to him.

How am I so lucky, to have these two?

Why am I blessed with a best friend who has the power to return me to life—and has, twice? The astonishing link we had even transcended my altered state, which I learned more when we spoke about the bond. About what it had done to me while I was Awak—Strigoi.

"It would hurt," I tell her. Our bodies are curled and facing each other on her bed. "Stinging. I never wanted to look through it long, and when I did the world was fuzzy and unclear. Nothing sounded right. But I could always pull away from the bond, until—"

"Until I was too close to you?" she guesses. She reaches out to smooth one hand over my arm.

"Yes. I think that it broke me, somehow. I remember starting to feel again, through the pain. I was afraid for you."

"Your eyes changed." I blink in surprise. Her lips twist into a half-smile. "You didn't notice?"

"No, I didn't feel anything physical."

"Your eyes flickered between red and brown. That was how I knew something special was happening. Besides the fact that you started begging me to stop you…" She shakes her head.

"Thank you."

"You're my best friend. I'd do anything for you."

"You already have, Liss. You've done everything."

The memory fades away and my eyes settle on the pew in front of me. Everything for me. And I brought her more pain. More heartache. She worries about me all the time, now: the bond is almost constantly humming with her awareness of me—when she should be more concerned about herself. Queen-in-training, last-of-her-line, Spirit-user…at least I can still siphon away her darkness…

A large hand closes around my wrist. My scratching fingernails halt when I felt that skin instead of my own.

I look down. My fingernails have no blood on them—yet. Caught in time, then.

Dimitri's eyes are focused on me, scanning my face. His worry fades into sadness when he realizes that it was unconscious. He tilts his head toward the exit in question. I turn and slip out of the aisle. He does not release me as we leave, opening the door for us with his other hand.

Guardian Yuri, watching the exit, takes in the situation at a glance. "Need—"

"No. She'll be fine."

A nod and we are outside with no further comment.

The night air is cool on my red cheeks. "I'm fine."

"You didn't even notice you were doing it again."

"And I'm still fine." I pull my arm away.

Rather than seeming put off by my attitude, it seems to ease something in him that had been coiled tightly. "Was it a memory?"

For a long moment, a childish part of me pouts and whines that I don't want to talk about it. That part is quickly shut down. My therapist said I needed to talk about it to move past it. She hasn't been wrong yet.

I meet his eyes, unable to hold back a pout but pushing on despite it. "Changing back. How much Lissa's given up for me. How much she's worrying about me all the time. Wondering how I am so lucky to have a best friend like her."

He nods once.

I take my cue. "Sometimes I think she should have given up on me. That you shouldn't have hesitated to kill me."

Grimacing, he reaches for me. I almost push him away, settling instead on allowing us to grasp each other's arms. Not pushing me for more contact, he instead searches my eyes intently as he asks, "Do you still think you shouldn't be alive?"

He understands the distinction. "No. Just that—you risked so much when you hesitated."

"I'm not perfect," he replies, his eyes shuttering for a moment. "I've seen a number of former colleagues who became Strigoi, but none I was so close to, right in front of me." His eyes open. "Not someone I loved so fiercely."

I lick my lips. "You need to promise me that if it were to happen again—"

"It will not—"

"Don't say things you aren't sure of," I snap. "Even if Lissa's powers worked this time, I cannot—I will not—survive it again. I'm barely surviving now and you know that. You know they're letting me slip by into Guardianship too easily because there just aren't enough of us. You know that I'm still a broken wreck—"

"You have proven yourself repeatedly every day since you returned to us," he growls back. The force of it shocks me into silence. "Every step you've taken to regain yourself earned you that place back, nothing else. And you did it on your own, with every bit of stubborn determination that makes you Rose. Before I make you any promise, you will acknowledge that and continue forgiving yourself."

I swallow and the silence envelops us.

Finally, I nod. "Okay. I'm still a wreck, but I am my own wreck. And your wreck."

Smiling, pained but also happy, he swears what I wanted. "I will never let you experience anything like that again. I promise you that should it somehow become a question, neither of us will have to survive it, Roza."

"Then…?"

"I will not hesitate or wait until Lissa can make it to you in time." The words come slowly, heavily, and with reluctance. But he does it anyway. And then he says, "For me, I ask you the same."

My body wants to recoil at the very thought of losing him. The nightmare I lived through stops that reaction. "I promise I will never let you experience what I did, Dimitri. Even if that means staking you myself."

A pause.

We laugh, then, at the nearly absurd promises we've just made. They have made me feel lighter, though. Better. One more little step toward healing.

"Come," he says, releasing my wrist. I experience no urge to return to incessantly picking at the skin. "We can get some extra training in before your session with the whole class."

"You're looking for excuses to punish me," I groan. "Church means we skip practice, remember?"

He grins in acknowledgement. "You still have tutoring hours left to fulfill before graduation."

"How many more?"

He shrugs. "If we train every morning, no skipping? Another two weeks' worth."

I stumble and he grabs my elbow. Counting, I realize that time has almost entirely escaped me. Three weeks to graduation. "Even during my Trial?" I complain.

"Not then. I have something different in mind, then. But they are almost here."

"You're planning to keep my training up after the Trial?"

His smile is almost too bright. "There is always something more to learn." I groan loudly and stomp ahead of him. He follows, chuckling.

We both know this play-acting at normalcy is important. For both of us. It also feels…right. Like slipping into an old, comfortable pair of jeans, this fits me in the ways I need. And when I reach the gym doors, looking back, his content expression tells me that he feels the same.

: : :

I peel off the gauze taped over the back of my neck. My hair is long enough for a ponytail now, the ends brushing the back of my now-exposed skin. Using a small hand-mirror and careful angling, I hold my hair aside to peer at the promise mark in the bathroom mirror.

It's healed. Real.

The ceremony was a couple of days ago. My official Academy graduation is astonishingly close: I have tomorrow, and the day after is the ceremony. That's where they will tell me my first assignment.

I still hold out hope for being assigned to Lissa. Moroi get a large say in who their Guardian will be, but hers is also an assignment I am sure the Queen will be involved in. Lisa hasn't received a confirmation yet.

A knock on my door startles me. Leaving the mirror behind, I slip out of the bathroom and open my door.

Framed in my doorway, Dimitri looks almost imposing. His eyes are full of gentle love, so carefully tucked away whenever we are in public.

Early morning daylight seeps around the black-out curtains of the deserted hallway. I peek out, looking left and right, then look back up at him. My eyebrows—still can't manage a single raised one—lift in question. A smirk curls my mouth like an old friend. "Well, well. What are you doing 'round these parts so late?"

His expression turns: at a glance, expressionless. To me, questioning and hopeful. "I have a surprise for you. If you'd care to join me."

"Oh?"

"We missed your birthday," he says simply.

My heart starts pounding. "Oh."

The smile struggling to break through tips him off that this is the start of an excellent idea, whatever it is, and he's responding in kind. His eyes flicker down my body. "You might want to change."

"Into something more…comfortable?"

"Into something more suitable," he corrects gently. I'm not fooled: a certain fire burned in his eyes at my teasing suggestion. "Lissa has a plan. I was recruited for it."

My best friend's hand in this makes my grin even wider. Was this what she'd been holding back over the past few days? I had thought she was trying to give me space.

He laughs at my excitement. "Hurry. We only have so much time."

I sigh, pretending to be put upon, even as I practically dance back into my room. "You know, that also narrows down your present options a little." He won't linger at the open doorway. The question is, will he come in or wait outside?

I shuck my shirt off, exposing my bare back.

The door swings closed. I'm alone.

My lips curl up at the daring side of myself that I'd only recently recovered. That's the side that swiftly slithers out of my loose sweatpants and underwear. I find black lace underclothes. Things I'd wished briefly for when we were in the cabin…

I also slip jeans and a V-cut shirt on. The cabin. That memory sends a delicious shudder through my body, one that I also revel in for the sake of feeling it.

So much of me has been recovered. Everyone has seen me picking the pieces of myself together. I haven't scratched myself into bleeding in a week, now. With my friends, I've been making jokes and laughing more easily. My therapist said that I was making good progress.

What's amazing is that between Dimitri and Lissa, they've shown me just how well they know me. To go out is a birthday treat and a self-test.

Lissa would have thought to surprise me in celebration of how far I've come, and to mark a moment we had lost. I, too, want to recapture another piece of me, to feel things I thought might have been lost for good.

Dimitri also knows me. I want to see that I can do something rash, break a small rule, push myself. And that can't really happen after graduation because I'll be considered a fully-legal adult, complete with a job. The days of teenage foolishness are almost over.

I may have grown up too quickly from everything—running away with Lissa, losing Mason in Spokane, being turned into a Strigoi—but they are granting me a let-my-hair-down moment.

My heart throbs as he leads me from the Academy dorms, through the courtyard, and onto a trail. We're alone on it when he pauses and turns to me. Uncertainty in his expression, he tells me, "Lissa was determined. I convinced her that it was safest to remain on Academy grounds, but I couldn't…that is, I did not explain—"

Suddenly, I know where we are going. "The cabin?"

A faint blush lingers on his cheeks. "She did not seem to know, so I assumed you did not tell her about us."

I shake my head. "Before we really were together? It was hard to talk about so I just didn't tell her. And then after…well, there wasn't time." We look at each other, shaded by trees on the path. I feel the urge to assure him, "I know we still care about each other, but we haven't actually..."

"No, we have not discussed it," he says, taking my hand gently in his own. "All you need to know is that whatever you want from me, is what you will have."

My stomach feels tingly and tight. I feel shy when I tell him, "I think I'm almost ready to tell you what that is. But, for the record, not telling Lissa? That's just because I'm figuring me out. I don't regret a second of loving you." Far from that, as a matter of fact.

His eyes shine. "Neither do I." Reaching forward, he cups my chin with one hand. "Whenever you wish to tell anyone, anything, I am prepared to defend us."

For a moment, he sounds fierce as the warrior I've seen. And it would be a battle—if we become a known couple, there will be judgment. We will have to fight to keep ourselves.

"I'll be right there with you," I say, caressing his hand and arm. When the last of my healing pieces fit back together, I think I will be strong enough to face every part of truly being with Dimitri.

He accepts my statement with no surprise and no disappointment. In fact, I sense relief, which tells me that while he will defend us, he is also not ready to need to charge into battle. We are together in recovery.

The rest of the walk to the cabin is in companionable silence. My excitement rises the closer we get until my heels feel like they are bouncing on the ground. At the door, he eyes me and stifles his smirk.

My joy bubbles over, but I scowl and shove him aside. "Keep it up, chuckles, and you'll spend the party out here in the cold."

He doesn't say anything in response. The door opens and inside are streamers, balloons, and a group of happy faces.

"Surprise!" Lissa nearly screams in my face, her bubbling joy finally breaking through the block she'd put up on our bond. I am bowled over by it.

Eddie and Mia are by the snack table, which is loaded with junk food and sodas. I spy a partially-hidden bottle that looks alcoholic in nature. Christian lounges on a chair trying unsuccessfully to hide a genuine smile, a red plastic cup already in his hand.

My cheeks are already starting to ache. I don't care.

With enough energy to carry the party, Lissa sweeps me into the center of the room and enters her prime speech-making mode. "We love you so much, Rose, and even though it might bring up unpleasant memories, we want to celebrate your birthday with you. Because we all missed it, but it happened and should be recognized. So I thought—"

"Lissa!" I clasp her hands in mine. "You put together a party for me. And saved my life. Twice." As I've learned so well to do, I acknowledge and set aside the sadness to say, "Let's re-do the celebration, and forget the other stuff for now, okay?"

She nods like a bobblehead. "Happy eighteenth birthday, Rose!"

Hugging ensues. Mia joins us, Eddie gets dragged in. Christian lounges in his chair and calls us all sappy. Dimitri stands guard at the door, attempting to fade into the background like a professional Guardian.

A flood of nonsense spills into the room: classmate chatter, classes recaps, memories of other times we have had at the Academy. We pass around the bowls of pretzels and chips, drink the sodas, play music. Dance.

Mia pretend to be sneaky when she spikes the drinks with the bottle of rum. Dimitri rolls his eyes and breaks his silent pose in the corner to warn us, "Do not bring out another bottle and I'll not confiscate this one."

Giggly and caught up in the joy, I dance over to him. "Ah, comrade! You really care!"

He eyes me and sniffs when I stop in front of him. "And no more for the birthday girl," he says.

"Hey! I should be able to get raging drunk if I want to!"

"We have training tomorrow morning," he reminds me. "Your last hour of mandated tutoring still has to be completed."

"That is cruel and unusual," I tell him, my fingers tingling to touch his crossed arms. They look delicious.

"Princess…"

"Yes, Guardian Belikov," Lissa sighs. I don't turn to look at her, still caught in Dimitri's eyes. We've been staring at each other, perhaps for too long, but it doesn't stop the overwhelming urge I have to kiss him.

Lissa may have been the mastermind, but he made sure it could happen. He's letting me be a teenager, complete with irresponsible behavior like drinking and staying up well past the middle of the night. I feel normal again.

And he's standing guard, protecting us—protecting me—by letting no one interrupt this experience. It's definitely not within his job description, and he could get in trouble for letting us do this if Alberta found out.

Emboldened, gushing, I push to the tips of my toes and lean up to kiss his cheek. Frozen at the touch, he stays completely still. "Thank you."

As I pull back, he clearly swallows down some words. Self-consciousness surges up within me as the rest of the room filters back in, as the slight dimming of my friend's voices tells me they have noticed. No, I'm not ready...

Stoic at first, his expression melts into a tentative affection. "You deserve the time to celebrate," he says in response. I see the love in his eyes before his mask returns.

I back away from him, with a parting shot, "We're fine here. Celebrate a little with us, will you?"

He shakes his head, a fond smile flashing there-and-gone. I return to the couch, grabbing a bowl of chips.

The others don't seem to have thought much of our interaction, but I can feel Lissa's suspicious curiosity glowing down the bond. I attempt to raise one eyebrow at her as I stuff food into my mouth. "Wa?"

Her nose crinkles. "No see-food," she chides. The curiosity fades back: she'll let it go, tonight.

Grateful, I offer her the chips. She takes them.

Next come presents—a few things that are shiny and pretty and feminine, jewelry like necklaces and earrings. They are adult gifts, thoughtful gifts, that I accept with only a couple of tears in my eyes.

Lissa gives me a practical but beautiful metal clasp, with the words, "For when you're on-duty." Underlying the sentiment is the determination that such duty will be with her. Her certainty buoys my own hope.

An hour later, the energy is slipping away and I know everyone—including me—needs to sleep. Mia starts collecting the empty cans and bottles, and Eddie takes out the trash. Christian gives me a hug when only Dimitri is watching, and I punch his shoulder after accepting it. We grimace at each other.

While we meander back to the main of the Academy together, I linger toward the back where Dimitri keeps watch.

The whole time we were in the cabin, I studiously avoided looking at the bed standing innocently in the far corner of the room. Neatly made and untouched, its presence was a reminder that kept making my thighs tremble. At this point in the night, I have just enough tension built up and just enough alcohol in my bloodstream to risk pushing him a tiny bit further.

We're not quite alone, but the others are distracted in conversation. I don't let the moment pass. Slipping under his arm makes him stumble for a moment, but he lets me. His eyes are darting at the group in front of us and I shush him with a gentle tug on the back of his neck. When his face is lower and I'm on my toes, I murmur, "Going to show me any more good times tonight, Comrade?"

He flashes me a dangerous look. The kind that would make our connection obvious should anyone else have seen it. I get a thrill from being able to elicit the reaction.

He releases me with reluctance. I feel it in the strain of his arm. But I slip away just as easily as I slid under his arm, and loop mine through Lissa's next as I rejoin the others. They had not noticed our brief flirtation.

My belly flips with anticipation.

: : :

Everyone goes back to their rooms after a round of hugs—or arm-punches—until I am left alone with Dimitri again.

He pauses outside my room. Leaving my door open, inviting him wordlessly to enter, I sit at my desk chair and start peeling off my shoes. My smile is hidden when he shuts the door, inside with me this time.

Once my shoes are off and I'm wriggling my toes in the carpet, I look up at him and feel suddenly shy. "That was a wonderful birthday surprise."

He smiles. His arms are crossed and he leans against the wall beside my door. Is he holding himself back?

Probably.

My next move is uncertain. Is it time for another strip tease?

Schemes that are vaguely forming in my head become derailed when he says, "On the day of your birthday, I was in Siberia." My eyes widen: he almost never broaches the topic. "With my family. We…held a memorial for you."

The news saddens me, but it also makes my heart swell with love. To bring my memory to his home, to those he loves so much, and to grieve my loss surrounded by them… "Oh, Dimitri."

He shakes his head. "I do not mean to—"

"No, it's okay. I think…" I pause, realizing why my next move was uncertain. "I'm glad you brought it up. It hurts to think about what you went through before I returned, but I want to know."

"Perhaps it is simply a cultural way, but I find that it is hard to hold a celebration without a little memory of what it took to get to one." He finally straightens from his slouch.

I sit utterly still, looking up at his impassive face.

"I was not there for very long, in the end. Just for a visit. To grieve for you, to see my family, to figure out what to do next." He steps closer. "My babushka, my grandmother, Yeva…I mentioned once that she has abilities?" I nodded, recalling when we each had a tarot reading at Moroi Court. He mentioned his grandmother being a witch. "She was the one who pointed me in the right direction, to meet Mark and Oksana."

I blink at him. "Lissa mentioned them. Spirit-bonded, like we are." She promised that we'd meet with them someday. Ask all the questions we could think of to a pair that shared our experience.

"Yes. And they were also the ones who had heard a tale of a Spirit-user who once saved a Strigoi by bringing them back. Without meeting them, I'd never have thought it possible, never have told Lissa."

And never have returned me to my dhampir self. "So, your grandmother helped you figure out how to save me," I concluded. "I'd love to meet her and say thanks in person. Someday." My stomach flutters in nerves at the thought of meeting her—of meeting any of his family.

The smile on his lips, though, says that I've just given him a gift. "I want to introduce you to them, Roza. To bring you home with me, show them this wonderful woman who has made my life so full. I want to celebrate you with them, instead of mourn you."

Oh. That is what he is saying.

Standing in front of me, almost looming, holding himself back with crossed arms, he could seem intimidating. Instead, I look up at a man who is speaking his love for me.

Not as an illicit affair that we both knew shouldn't have been happening. Not as just a girlfriend he wants to meet his family, either. He's saying the kind of love that made me one he wanted to grieve over with his family. He made a trip to Siberia just to tell them about his loss. That's a certain kind of dedication.

The depths of his love could terrify me.

Instead, I rise to my feet, stepping that last small distance between our bodies. My hands caress his arms, sooth his hands down to twine with my own. Pushing myself to my toes, I lean up to whisper against his lips, "We'll plan that trip, then." Any remaining piece of his mask fades. Underneath, there is radiant happiness and that frothing undercurrent of lust that he rarely lets me see. I tug at his hands, backing myself up. "But right now, it's still my birthday."

He laughs, a hint of sadness lingering in his eyes. "It's late, in both the date and the hour."

"Doesn't matter. It's my birthday. And I still want one more thing," I remind him. A seductive note enters my voice. And I remember when longing for him caused more heartache than any other emotion.

He hesitates.

Of course. I squeeze his hands and look up at him earnestly. "Dimitri. I'm eighteen now." Ignoring the fact that my age didn't stop us the first time.

Neither of us consider his mentorship a factor anymore, given that our last training session had been that very morning. But he still has a point when he says, "Until I figure out otherwise, I am still assigned to Lissa."

"There's no guarantee I will be." He raises one eyebrow, obviously not believing that I won't receive it. "Regardless, we've been through this before. None of these reasons stopped us in the cabin."

"They should have." A lingering guilt shadows his expression.

Fear, like ice, slips down my spine. "Don't regret me." My voice sounds pitifully small.

Fiercely, he's back, eyes burning into mine. "I would never regret you. My conscience reminding me of my actions does not negate that."

"Then what's really making you hesitate?"

"I just want you to be sure of yourself before we move forward again."

The fear slips away. Always the caretaker, the protector. Of course. I assure him, "I've healed a lot. Maybe I do have a bit further to go, but right now? Here?" My hands slide up his arms to his shoulders. "I am sure of how I feel about you. I am sure that I want you. I am sure that I am ready." I pat his chest with one hand. "Let me take care of worrying about me now, all right?"

"Worrying about you is as natural as loving you," he replies, finally caressing my check with one hand. "This is how I am with the people I love."

"I love you, too."

He kisses me, then, and we don't stop.

Sex in the cabin had been loving and slightly awkward, as with any first-time lovers. It's loving this time, too. But our hesitance has lessened.

I peel his clothing away and touch his body with more confidence than curiosity, remembering that he seemed to purr when I caressed his sides, that his eyes flashed when my nails skittered down his back.

He realizes I do not need to be held like I might break. I find pleasure in the near-bruising grip he lays into my hips. My body arches as he sucks a line of bruising kisses down my chest and stomach.

We've carried this passion for a long time, before and after I was temporarily lost.

Releasing it settles another jagged edge of myself into place.

: : :

He wakes me before he leaves my room. Every move is nearly silent as he stealthily dresses, as I tug him back for languid kisses. I don't fight him as he leaves, though. No one can catch him leaving me like this.

"Meet me in the gym for training," he murmurs.

"This wasn't enough exercise?"

He chuckles. "Don't be late."

When he's let the door close softly behind him, I curl up in the sheets that smell like both of us to return to sleep.

: : :

"Ah, little dhampir—it's been a while."

My hands are still fixing up my wet hair in a ponytail when that voice registers. I look up, startled, but not unhappy, to see Adrian eyeing me with an unusually blank expression.

He's right, though. "It's been ages," I reply, smiling. We had just started to get to know each other before my abrupt transformation, but he's a familiar face, one I am happy to see.

I also remember his flirtations with a vague sense of loss at a possibility now gone. The fact that he was essentially missing-in-action during my recovery says a lot, at least to me. But there's something in his expression—

"Your aura's stronger," he says abruptly, maintaining his casual lean against the gym's wall. "The little fractures are almost gone. You've been healing well."

I blink. "I…have."

He adds, "He's been helping you a lot."

My arms cross in response, a frisson of alarm tracing up my spine. "You're being awkward for a long-time-no-see chat, buddy."

His eyes are intense and intent as he says, "Know what else is awkward? That morning sex vibe. It's glowing, practically blocks out the shadow-darkness."

"That is none of your business!" My cheeks burn bright red. The alarm turns into an increased pulse.

"Don't worry, it's not like I'll tell," he says, a faint smile appearing. A hint of regret passes across his face, chased away quickly by unusual seriousness. "Although I really should, you know. Legally speaking." One eyebrow arches knowingly.

My heart thuds against my ribs. "I am eighteen."

"And he's still your mentor."

"Adrian." If he's not just teasing, trying to get a reaction from me, I'm not sure what I will do. But it might involve violence.

He raises his hands. "I said should, not _would_. You forget, that rule exists to protect the innocent, young virgin schoolgirls—"

"I will punch you—"

"—who are taken advantage of, but I can see what's really going on." He smirks. "Totally mutual. Kind of nauseatingly technicolor about it, too. Your auras match." So that's how he knows about Dimitri. My shoulders relax further when he adds, "No reason not to break the rule if it doesn't apply."

I'm less anxious, but still feel defensive. "It's not like we planned it. But I am happy, and I want this, and you are not going to mess it up for us."

Sincerity breaks through his teasing grin and his eyes turn intense again. "Just don't hide it forever, Rose. That's where it turns from understandably private to bad for both of you."

"We won't," I tell him. Shyly, I add, "You're the first person to know, though."

"What, Lissa didn't? Man, we need to work on her Spirit-vision. She's practically blind if she hasn't seen it yet."

I don't tell him that Lissa suspects something. She respects my privacy enough not to pry—yet. Granted, she probably will pretty soon, and if Adrian's slight rambling is any indication, my aura is telling my secret for me.

"All right. Nice as it is to see you at all—let alone up so early—I have one more session of training to get to."

"Training. Sure." He doesn't bother disguising the turn of his thoughts as he smirks.

My glare comes with a punch that he barely dodges in time. "Get out of here."

"Just remember to use protec—"

The door slams behind me as I saunter inside.

: : :

We actually do train.

Because someone has shown up early for my graduation, and she has decided to sit in and watch.

My mother is conversing with Dimitri when I enter the small training room we've been using. Her back is to me. Dimitri makes an excellent show of not noticing me right away, but I feel every muscle—including intimate ones—tighten at the sight of him.

Damn.

Janine turns when I drop my bag against the wall. Her entire face transforms when she registers me, growing softer than I have ever seen.

I want to be angry at her like I have been all my years of growing up at the Academy. I want to be frustrated that she turns up now of all times, when I've been recovering for weeks. While she's been off doing her job.

But I caught a glimpse of a much worse life, and Dimitri's right. There is no room for hatred in our line of work.

Maybe she could have requested a vacation. She'd already taken one, though, to try to hunt me down during that too-long existence as Strigoi. And she was here when I was turned back, but I had not responded to her, just like I had not responded to Lissa.

She'd stayed long enough to say goodbyes once I was coherent, though. And sends more regular texts.

She stands in front of me uncertainly and I don't let her hover. No nonsense. I go for a hug and she returns it tenderly. Then we let go and reassume our tough stances and barriers. She eyes me carefully and nods once. "You look much better."

"Thanks. I feel much better." Seeing an opportunity, I subtly take it. "Guardian Belikov has been a great help."

"He's a good Guardian," she replies diplomatically, nodding to him. "I couldn't have requested a better mentor to train you."

"Not just training." His eyes dart to me, unconsciously and instinctively a warning, softening quickly into questioning. "He's been helping me heal, too. Getting back into life."

"I believe the Princess has had more to do with that," he cuts in, gently. "You have many friends who have helped you."

"I have a lot of people who love me, but not all of them could help me right away," I point out. We're all abruptly uncomfortable, but I have to make this point for my mother. "Because no one else survived me. Saw me like…that. I think that's the reason you broke through when I just couldn't respond to reality, and it matters. You helped me a lot."

Her expression doesn't show a huge change, but I think there is something that eases in her at my suggestion. "Then I owe you more than credit for my daughter's training, Guardian Belikov." Reaching out, she squeezes my shoulder. "You helped bring her back to me."

I tremble under the gesture of affection.

He looks conflicted for a moment, but accepts with grace. And I also catch his approving glance when we move to the mats to show my mother what I can do.

"Often against reason, a mother feels responsible for her child's suffering," he says in an undertone while we pull on our gloves.

"She shouldn't have. I wasn't near-catatonic because she failed. Her love is more than enough."

Our eyes meet. Yes, her love is plenty—and his was enough to reach me. It's complicated by the fact that I told her the truth. I think it was his jarring presence in both my nightmare and the present that broke through to me in my cell. Being confronted by a victim shattered my shell.

My mother doesn't know that I love this man in front of me, though. Giving her another reason also helps us keep our fragile new status a secret for a little bit longer.

I also hope it will prevent her from throttling him when she eventually finds out.

: : :

"So, how long have you been in crush with him?"

My nail file continues to shape a wayward angle from an index finger. Inside, my heartbeat increases, but I manage a disinterested, "Hmm?"

The nail file is snatched away. Lissa points it at me like a weapon. "Dimitri Belikov," she says, pronouncing every syllable deliberately. "Six-foot hunk of hot Guardian man-meat. Warrior extraordinaire. Your _mentor_."

She says the last one heavily, with a weight that implies it's the most important one. In a way, that's true.

During the night hours before graduation day, we're doing pre-graduation primping in her room. Just the two of us. Of course she brings this up now. It's one of our last chances to be alone together.

Through the bond, I feel more than her suspicious curiosity or her certainty that there's something going on. I also feel her worry. That catches my attention more than my own nerves. I want to brush it off, but in the bathroom earlier I'd had to wipe away the last of his come from sex last night and, well…there are times you just can't keep hiding things from your best friend who is also like a sister.

"We slept together," I blurt. A relief I didn't know I needed crashes through me.

"What?"

"Sex, Lissa."

" _When?_ "

"Last night."

She throws the nail file by accident as her hands go to her head. "Rose!"

"I know!"

"I thought it was just a crush! Possibly unrequited except he's not as stoic as he thinks he is! But you actually _slept together?_ "

We have reached shrieking levels of emotion. I stretch my hands out to her in supplication. "I know, don't shout—"

"I'm not shouting!"

"You are!"

"Fine, I am!" She ruffles her hair in agitation. "I cannot believe I am only hearing you confirm liking him _after_ you had sex with him."

If that's what has her mad, then I feel better already. Still, the words of apologies are bubbling up out of me. "I wanted to tell you earlier, but it's kind of complicated!"

"Couldn't you tell that I know you well enough to know when you like someone?"

"Yes, I knew you were suspicious. I just didn't feel ready to share it yet. And it's not just sex, that sounded bad—"

"It's not exactly good—"

"—but we do actually love each other, Lissa."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "You know how this would sound to anyone else. He was your mentor. Technically, he still is! And he's seven years older than you. And even if you are eighteen now..."

"Um."

Her head snaps up and her eyes narrow. "You did only start this now." I can hear the royal in her voice.

No more keeping secrets from my best friend. "Last night was the second time," I whisper.

"You. Didn't."

"Once. In the cabin. Just before the attack on the Academy." Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

A swarm of emotions flood the bond and I shrink back under the onslaught. She notices, reigns herself in, breathes deeply, and settles her mind. We sit in silence until I feel a flicker of understanding and a soft sadness coming from from her.

Then I look up. She's opened her eyes again. "That's why you wanted him, too," she says. "You weren't just coming after me."

"Yeah." I rub my hands together. "Look, I didn't keep it secret because I didn't trust you or something. I know I could have told you all about it, even though it was, well—"

"Slightly illegal," she finished for me.

"Yeah. That. Lissa…" I curl my legs up to my body, resting my feet on the seat. "We fought it, how we felt about each other. Not just because of our age difference, or him being my mentor, but because we were going to be your Guardians. And that would distract us from the job. So it was easier for me to not think about it because it was hard to want him so much and know we couldn't let it happen. The cabin wasn't planned. We just lost control."

A flicker of hurt comes through the bond. "Rose, you're my best friend. I'd never try to stop you from being with someone you love. And I'd never want me to be the reason you couldn't have them. But..."

"What?"

"I'm not trying to stop you by asking this. Just let me know one thing." She leaned forward, resting her hands on my knees. "Coming back from being Strigoi really hurt you. We all saw how you gravitated toward him while you were recovering, and we didn't think anything of it because you were getting better with his help. But now I have to ask you—are you both certain that you're not still relying on him to help heal you?"

I was shaking my head before she finished. "We weren't together at all until last night. Nothing was going on when I was healing. Not even loving him, not really—you know how emotions were kind of out of my reach."

"You're positive?"

"I am. I know when I really felt it again. And that was after I'd really felt like myself again." A shy smile comes to my face. "I promise, he hasn't been taking advantage of me. If anything, I keep pushing him."

She nodded, apparently satisfied. "Then all I can say is, don't let guarding me be the reason you aren't together." She smiled. "You're happy around him. That's important. I want you to be happy."

"I know." Removing my legs as a barrier, I pull her into a hug. "Love you for it, Lissa."

"Yes, well." She brushes her shirt straight and goes to retrieve the wayward nail file. "So. You. Had sex." Her eyebrows wriggle.

My cheeks heat up. "Sure you want to hear about it?"

"Hey. He's a Russian god. I want details."

"You have Christian."

"And you don't think Christian is cute, but no one who has eyes would deny Dimitri is a beautiful man."

I roll my own, but accept the nail file from her. "We're still a secret," I add.

"No one will hear it from me." She bites her lip. "Are you going to let people know, though? Eventually?"

Guardians don't have relationships with each other. Moroi come first. One's charge is one's only focus when you are dhampir.

I sigh. "It's complicated." Her eyes remain worried, and I think about him so it is easier to smile. "But I'm in love, Lissa. And that's worth trying to figure it out."

She believes me. And so do I.

: : :


	3. Part Three

**Disclaimer** : I own nothing of this series.

::::

Part Three

::::

The air outside of the Academy smells different. I cannot say for sure, and it has been months since leaving the Academy to ponder this idea, but something in me says that breathing outside of the only home I've known is like breathing a new life.

In many ways, this is a new life.

My fingers pinch and pull at the thick hem of my sweater. The fabric is loose and comfortable around my thighs. Knee-high boots braced against the seat in front of me, I watch scenery tumble by outside the train window.

Anxiety prods me to send another text message to Lissa, so far from my protective watch. She might be in Court, and safer than anywhere else in the world, but taking a vacation was not my choice. It was an act fought for long and hard. Eventually, she won and sent me off.

U good?

Through the bond, a flicker of exasperation wafts to me across a mysterious barrier.

I respond. STFU. U were 2 quiet!

The exasperation turns into fondness, then fades away into distraction by what is in front of her. I could follow, but now isn't the best time to see through her eyes.

The compartment door slides open. I ignore my traveling companion, the traitor who helped Lissa win the battle.

"Baia will be warmer," he says, his accent thicker due to being back in his own country. The sound wraps around me like velvet. "We'll be able to celebrate outside, instead of cramming the town into our house."

"Will it really be the whole town?" I ask. "Was it like that at my…memorial?"

"Everyone gathered under one roof? _Da_. Though the community is very close, it was not precisely all. Many. Most."

I turn away from the window. He's watching me, eyes lingering on my cheeks.

His expression is hesitant: I've been rocketing between warm and cold so quickly this whole trip. Before it began, we actually fought. Then I gave in, made my apologies with a packed bag, and we took off.

Maybe I'm not so mad at Lissa for telling me that I should make this trip a reality. It's been almost a year since Dimitri was on a train like this, carrying his grief with him like a cloak. It's time for us to soothe this hurt, and she knew it.

"I want to be here," I tell him, abrupt as always in letting him into my thoughts. "I want to meet your family. But I also feel like I'm abandoning Lissa."

He understands, of course. "I felt that way whenever I left Ivan. And for a long time, I felt that way after he had died. Leaving your charge is difficult."

"If something happens when I'm not there…" Unbidden, the memory of her battle with an insane Spirit-user come to mind. It wasn't so long ago that Avery's broken mind attempted to take my best friend away, and merge her into a collection of two other twisted bonds.

Lissa defeated her, with my help, but it had been close. And that scares me.

"She never truly is alone," he reminds me gently. "Not just with your bond. She has plenty of Guardians who will help protect her, too."

"But is she really safe at Court?"

Being a royal does not mean she has all the privileges of her family. As the last of her line, she cannot vote, and her early death would end the Dragomir line.

He shakes his head. "It took me some time to learn this, but the truth is that while they come first, that does not mean that a Guardian never has a place at all. You must take care of yourself, too, or you have nothing to give for them. You cannot solve all the problems of her life just by being present."

That stings. "I can do a lot more there than I could out here!"

"A lot more for Lissa than for yourself."

"Is there a difference?" The words sound wrong when I say them. My eyes fall closed as I breathe out a heavy sigh.

No, there is a difference.

The difference is that my life is not Lissa's. I can be her Guardian, but I can't be only her Guardian. My own life is sadly small outside of her, but the biggest part of it is Dimitri. And I just implied that he's not enough.

His silence tells me that he is either hurt or waiting, patient as always.

"I mean that I feel like I am always going to be making up for being Strigoi," I say slowly. My eyes stay closed. "That will always haunt me in little ways. But you're right, I cannot throw myself away. I want to embrace every part of living because I know what it's like not to live."

Dimitri's arms wrap around me. I slide my legs across his own, ending up across his lap with my face pressed into his neck.

"A vacation was clearly in order, then," he says.

"You know, this isn't all my newbie-Guardian nerves," I tell him. "The thought of meeting your family is enough to make me want a shot of vodka."

"They will love you just as much as I do, moye serdtse." He chuckles, then, adding, "And are you sure about the vodka?"

"What do you mean, am I sure? I've had vodka before!" I lean back, meeting his eyes. "Remember that party you smuggled me to?"

He snorts. "That was an American brand. Mixed with soda."

"Are you mocking me?"

" _Da_."

I punch his arm. He snatches my hand, and our short scuffle quickly turns from a valiant defense of my drinking honor to a rather heated moment.

After letting that out, the rest of our journey is smooth. Dimitri leads me, his expertise impressive in that it shows me not just how well he knows his home but also how much he has missed it. This trip is important to him for many reasons, and I feel slightly guiltier for being a brat at the start.

Seeing him move through crowds, speaking that beautiful language that colors his voice in rich tones, I feel like parts of him I'd never known about are on display.

He leads because I am entranced by this confidence. He always has it, but there is a new layer to the movement. Even his body language has changed, and I am struck by the realization that this man I love is practically from another world. I'm fascinated.

We are in a rental car, on the last hour of our trip to Baia, when I ask, "Do you think in Russian?"

He looks at me, surprised, and falters for an instant. That gives me my answer before he event says, " _Da_. I never really notice. Some concepts that I learned in English remain so in my head, but much of my learning was in my first language."

"You're always translating," I murmur. Languages are not my area of expertise, but I do know a lot of brain power must go into constantly exchanging words in a split second to carry on normal-paced conversations. My admiration of him goes up a few notches. I'd always been a more physical kind of girl, but a brilliant brain was something I could appreciate, too. I just rarely slowed myself down enough to think about it.

"Do you know more than English?" he asks.

I snort. "Don't look at what grades I got in language classes, okay?"

"Language is not learned in a classroom," he replies. "You learn it by living it. Perhaps this trip will give you some practice."

"Do not start talking to me in Russian, comrade."

" _Ya nauchu tebya._ "

"No!"

: : :

By the time we pulled up to the house, he had sufficiently distracted me from my nerves by rattling off long streams of Russian. My responses varied between laughter, anger, and exasperated retorts as I guessed at what he was saying with wild inaccuracy.

"The landscape hurts your eyes."

"My hair is glorious."

"You want a sandwich."

My nerves jangle, shutting me up, when he turns off the car. My side of the car is facing the imposing structure—imposing, because of what awaits inside. I swallow hard, my eyes tracking the quiet street as though seeking an escape.

That must be what he reads on my face, because his hand cups my chin and turns me to face him. "You are already loved," he rasps, voice filling my ears and washing away the rush of a fast heartbeat. "Nothing they could say—if they wanted to—would change that, Roza."

"Let's do this," I say, bravado masking my fear and hope: that they will like me.

He kisses me once, chastely. "Wait for a moment," he instructs me.

Puzzled, I sit back in my seat as he exits and circles around the car. My eyes roll when he reaches for my door, but I let him open it. "Really, comrade?"

"Politeness," he says, smiling innocently. His hand helps me step out of the car and I almost refrain from commenting on his suddenly medieval behavior.

Almost.

"You don't do that in America," I remind him as we walk toward the house.

"We are not in America."

"But—"

He pauses as we reach the front door. "Let me show them how I care," he tells me. Suddenly, I realize that there may have been eyes watching us and my nerves skyrocket again. The banter had helped some, though.

My Dimitri, strategic mastermind. His talents grow every day.

My suspicions are confirmed when the door flies open before he can knock. Three female faces peer out at us with matching wide smiles. From the dark hair to the eyes to the skin tones, I can see how each is related to him.

The sisters cry out greetings over one another. And I am suddenly witness to a whirlwind, each vying for Dimitri's attention with shouts of, "Dimka!"

Their greetings to him make me feel warm just watching.

Then the youngest is reaching for me. I almost back up out of instinct, but her eyes are completely open and show only joy. So I let her hands fall to my shoulders, where she squeezes tightly.

"Welcome," the youngest says, a first burst of English, to me. "Oh, Roza! We are so happy to see you!"

I feel dazed.

"It's wonderful to meet you," I reply.

"Viktoria," she prompts me. Her arm slides around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug. She must have seen my hesitance, because it is brief and she returns my personal space quickly.

Then she trades off, and a similar routine repeats with Sonja and Karolina. They are as gentle with me as they were exuberant with Dimitri, and I am unsure whether to feel touched that they can see how uncomfortable I am or embarrassed that I am so obvious.

Meeting Dimitri's eyes over their heads, seeing the affection in his eyes, I decide that their care is about more than me. That helps.

Another woman emerges from the back, her lined face bearing Dimitri's same eyes. She has her arms around her son in a moment. I watch as they greet each other. A tiny tug of longing snakes through me as I recall the last time my mother and I saw each other off with businesslike nods.

Then my lingering uncertainly can no longer be borne, because Dimitri says my name.

I look up in time for her not to take me off-guard, but I am still surprised to find her arms cradling me close. "Roza," she says, pressing my face into her shoulder. "I am so pleased to meet you, _moya dochka._ "

I am released with enough time to hide my startled eyes and blush with a smile. "It's wonderful to meet you," I repeat, as I have been to every greeting. I must sound like a broken record.

"My mother, Olena," Dimitri says. His hand falls to my waist and I breathe more easily with him close again. "I heard my sisters take care of introducing themselves, of course."

"You weren't doing it," Viktoria snipes, eyes glimmering with laughter.

The enthusiasm of their greeting has taken the edge off my nerves. Now I feel something else, and I'm not sure what to call it. I've never been greeted like this. Dimitri can probably see that at a glance: he steps closer.

Olena's hands hold mine with tenderness and she beams at me. "When Dimka called to tell us the news, we were overjoyed. I thought my chance to know the woman my son loves had passed. We grieved."

Sonja's eyes peer at me over her mother's shoulder, shining with remembered tears. "We really are glad to meet you," she says, wisdom that her brother also possesses echoing in her words. "You have no idea how much he's changed since you came into his life."

"We both have," I reply, something in me coming unstuck. "Loving him helped pull me back into life again. I wouldn't have made it without him."

"Come!" Karolina calls, backing towards a hallway. "This is heavy talk to have on the doorstep. Tea, and food, mamachka. They must be tired."

"Yes, sit, tell us about your travels! Tell us about you, Rose." Olena unceremoniously pries me away from Dimitri and toward what turns out to be the kitchen.

There is an older woman sitting there, who lifts her hands as though in exasperation when we enter. Dimitri laughs at whatever she says to him, leaning down to wrap her in his arms. She hits his shoulder and sounds like she scolds him.

I smile as his cheeks darken in a blush. His sisters and mothers seem to take no particular notice of whatever the woman says, but Viktoria does pause to say, "He was very sad when he was here last. Yeva loves him enough to have disliked seeing him so."

That seems evident.

His grandmother makes a sharp gesture that does catch their attention. Dimitri turns to me, standing beside her, and reaches out to me. "Rose." I step toward him immediately, already anticipating the introduction. "This is my grandmother, Yeva."

"It's wonderful to meet you," I say, again. Her eyes are as intimidating as I expected from a woman Dimitri claimed had otherworldly abilities.

She snorts. "I don't bite."

I blink. "Could have fooled me."

Why my smart mouth popped up without my permission is beyond me. But somehow, it was the right way to respond: her mouth crinkled into a wide grin. "Good. You are indeed much more yourself. This would have gone less pleasantly if you weren't."

Unsure exactly what she's talking about, I glance at Dimitri.

He is stifling laughter and I am immediately irritated. "What would 'less pleasantly' have looked like?" I ask, glaring at him to show my displeasure at his inconsideration.

"Not unlike you kicking our Dimka's behind all over the backyard," she replies, without missing a beat. "The student shall surpass the teacher."

His sisters and mother roar with laughter.

"Yeva, I think we share a mind," I say.

"Goddess forbid," she growls, reaching for her tea. "You don't need anything more in that head of yours. Now go sit and tell us all about the trip."

: : :

Our odd, abrupt camaraderie is there throughout our stay in Baia. Dimitri tells me later that he laughed with joy: often, his grandmother pretends not to know English so she can avoid conversations with people.

"Instead," he says, "she clearly liked you. That made me happy."

"Sure," I say sweetly, "it couldn't have been because I lost my mind and got snarky with her."

"Oh, Roza," he sighs into my hair. "Nothing will ever stop that mouth of yours."

: : :

Talking about being Strigoi is too hard for me with these new people. I want them to like me so desperately that even mentioning the word feels like I risk being kicked out of the house.

Dimitri talks the most about that, letting me focus on the recovery and what I had been doing before being lost. I talk about Lissa and my friends at the Academy, and about my career now. We only briefly touch on our relationship's beginning, and I would have avoided it altogether if not for Dimitri revealing that he'd already let them know of our illicit beginnings.

They're the ones who get those pieces of the story. At that night's gathering, everyone else is jubilant and focused on celebrating life.

Particularly, mine. And Dimitri's.

Faces fill the backyard, spilling into and out of the front of the house. So many people, I cannot believe Dimitri when he says that this isn't the entirety of the town.

Just like earlier in our travels, I am fascinated as Dimitri becomes a social grandmaster, greeted by everyone, remembering everyone. He keeps me tucked close to his side, constantly translating and introducing me and prompting me to reply with a modicum of social grace.

I quickly realize that everyone looks at me like I am something miraculous. I don't see myself that way, even though I am constantly in awe of Lissa for having brought me back…twice. It feels odd to be looked at this way.

It would be easy to feel like I'm losing a part of myself to it if not for Dimitri. He treats me like he always has—just more openly.

In Baia, there is nothing holding us back from wrapping our arms around each other. From holding hands, from kissing my cheek, from running my fingers through his hair.

" _Vasha zhena_ ," some say, looking to me as they speak to him. He doesn't correct them. I make a note to look that phrase up.

Viktoria swings by, patting my hip. "You look beautiful, _sestra_." I laugh: she'd leant the form-fitting burgundy dress to me.

" _Spasibo_ ," I say, using the tiny amount of Russian I'd picked up over the days of traveling.

She presses a glass into my hand, crowing in delight. "Ah, a drink for the American!" Dimitri's ribs vibrate like he's laughing.

I should have paid attention, but instead I take a sip.

My throat goes numb. Spluttering, I croak, "Why are you poisoning me?"

Dimitri speaks into my ear above the raucous crowd, "I thought you could handle vodka."

"That is not vodka."

I am overruled. This is, apparently, very much vodka.

I reclassify the Belikova family from kind and thoughtful to utterly devious.

And vodka turns out to be what is drunk at wakes and celebrations. Sonya tells me, "We drank more than one case for your memorial. We must match that to make up for it at your return!"

Glass after glass finds its way to my hand, and eventually I no longer care about not knowing half of what is said to me or around me. I only care about Dimitri's warmth and the fact that I am happy to be here.

The night blurs at some point after dancing with Karolina on a table.

: : :

"Are you awake?"

His voice is too loud. "Shh!"

"You should eat something."

"Whisper. Please."

"I am." His soft chuckle is like a ringing gong. I pull the pillow tighter over my head.

"You win."

"Win what? _Moya devushka_ in pain?

"I was innocent to the ways of vodka. You tricked me. You are evil."

He laughs too loud and I groan at the sound.

Evidently I am pitiful enough to merit breakfast in bed. This marginally pacifies me.

: : :

Later, I corner Yeva, who seems to be the one who'll tell me outright. She is heading out for shopping and I pick up her bags, waving Dimitri away with promises that I feel fine now. She doesn't argue, which is reason enough for him to let us go.

We're halfway down the block when I ask, "Why did they keep saying ' _vasha zhena'_?"

She looks at me like I am stupid. "His grief was deep. He mourned you as one would a wife. No one who heard him speak about you in your memorial could have interpreted that any differently."

My heart thumps. "He didn't tell them that we weren't married when they said it."

"What a man doesn't say often tells you as much as what he does." Her eyes glitter. "You're wrong, but for now, I suppose it does no harm to tell you that you were expecting ' _tvoya devushka_ '."

"Which is?"

"Girlfriend. Such a silly term. Your souls are already one. That is more married than some."

I'd argue with her about it, but she soon detours off into a shop and I become a glorified bag lady.

Stewing in my language-barrier silence, I grow more and more irritated at Dimitri for being sneaky. The feeling intensifies when Yeva cackles half the way home, eyeing me in delight every few steps.

"The student surpasses the teacher," she says again, outside the house. I smirk as I perceive her implied permission.

Passing through the kitchen, I drop off the bags and greet his sisters and mother. Then I spy Dimitri in the backyard going through training poses. My hands start tying up my hair and I shrug out of my jacket.

"Surely you'll be chilled," Olena clucks.

"Nope," I tell her with a perhaps deranged smile. "I'll be just fine."

With that, I stride outside and launch myself at my 'husband'.

He is caught off guard. I land a punch, knock his legs out from under him, and retreat when he throws himself back up. Our forearms collide with fists, legs twisting and kicking and lunging. He quickly catches up with my mood and becomes less instinctively forceful.

A surprise attack launched him into warrior mode: now, he is in consoling mentor mode. Defending, letting me wear myself out. He's done this to me more than once.

I snarl, "Oh, what, _'vasha zhena_ ' is too delicate to handle a real punch?"

From the sidelines, Sonya snorts. "Told you she'd figure it out."

Karolina sighs. "He should at least have had the sense to tell her this morning."

His cheeks redden from emotion, rather than exertion. But he doesn't look ashamed enough for my liking, so I don't relent. I have more stamina, and I have other tricks up my sleeve.

"Well? Any words, comrade?"

He grunts as I land a particularly hard kick to his thigh. "I think you'd prefer to make your point this way rather than have a conversation."

"What, you want to talk? Here we are, talking!"

"This," he says, grasping my arm and twisting it behind me, "is you working out your anger." His chest is pressed to my back as he holds me.

I unbalance his ankle and twist out of his grip, turning and suddenly in his face as I pinch his wrist. "This is not anger, buddy. This is embarrassment and annoyance."

He pins both my arms behind my back and catches my leg on his thigh, putting me entirely off-balance. "I did not mean to cause you embarrassment. I meant to save myself some, and not have to bother correcting everyone every few minutes."

Well. That's probably true. Partially.

"And it has nothing to do with actually wanting to ask me?" I retort, leveraging my body up against his. Our faces are far too close. "Because I believe I mentioned before that I am _not_ getting married—"

His sisters gasp.

Dimitri grins at me. "Until there is a two as the first number of your age," he recites faithfully. "I remember. It's not a trick."

"It is so a trick, you sneaky—"

His lips close over mine. The rush of our fight pulls me into the passion. He releases my wrists and my hands thread around his shoulders, into his hair.

When we separate, I threaten, "Still not forgotten."

"But am I forgiven?"

"Maybe." My legs are around his waist, so I guess my anger has no ground to stand on.

Our little show comes to an abrupt end when Viktoria crows, "I get to be a bridesmaid!"

"Rosemarie Hathaway. Guardian to Princess Vasilisa Dragomir, daughter of Janine Hathaway, renowned Guardian, and graduate of St. Vladimir's Academy."

He recites it all without glancing at a document, though several are evident on his massive desk.

I sit unhappily across from him, arms crossed and attitude up full-force. "What do you want, old man?"

"Must I want something to introduce myself to such an accomplished young lady?" His gold hoop catches the light as he tilts his chin, cat-like, scrutinizing my every breath.

Yeva called him 'Zmey'. Dimitri told me not to approach him, to avoid him if necessary. I would have, but then Viktoria wanted a girl's night and then we had to run into her idiot ex and then there was a Strigoi and then there was an Alchemist—

It all got complicated. And bloody. Fast.

The Alchemist stands beside my chair, looking vaguely ruffled. Her blond hair is pulled neatly back from her face and her clothes are neatly pressed, but she clearly doesn't want to be here. She looks a bit thin, but I think she's pretty brave to stand in the room with the two of us looking like she has better things to do.

"You did well in solo battle," Zmey says, fingers idly tapping against his armrest. "That couldn't have been easy with two untrained bystanders nearly getting themselves killed."

"I do my job and I do it well."

"Indeed. I don't suppose you'd like to stick around more to do this job in Siberia?"

I blink to control my immediate response, which is to laugh in his face. "No."

That wasn't much more polite, but it was clear and short.

He sighs. "A pity." Then he points at the Alchemist. "Ms. Sage would have liked having some more backup in her area."

Ms. Sydney Sage looks down her nose at him as though he has lost his mind. My approval of the human goes up a notch.

"I'm sure she's devastated," I reply drily, standing. "Well, nice to meet you, old man, but I have things to be doing." Including meeting up with Viktoria, who was waiting outside and probably still quivering in terror at being in the business office of a man her brother had told her repeatedly never to go near.

He rises to his feet, seeming only amused that I gave him nothing. "We'll see each other again, my dear."

"Sure, old man," I mutter under my breath as I leave. Not if I can help it.

: : :

"You have got to be joking."

There, at the kitchen table of the Belikov house, sits Zmey.

He holds a mug of tea and blinks up smugly at me and Viktoria, where we stand in the doorway. It's been a week since we met him. The two of us went out for something Olena wanted for dinner, and we come back to see the rest of the family practically held hostage by the man.

Dimitri is preternaturally still. He does not move from where he stands when we come in, only because he's blocking the man from as many people as possible already. Except Yeva, who sits next to the Snake and looks up at us all like we're overreacting.

Dimitri's eyes slide to us quickly, a slight hurt boiling in their depths. I'd ask, but I'm answered when Zmey says, "Ah, Rose. Nice to see you again."

"Old man," I counter. Viktoria takes the bag from my hand and I nudge her behind me. "What do you want now?"

Yeva frowns at me. "That is not how you speak to an elder."

"Kidnapper," I correct her.

Dimitri's arms should not be able to tense further, but they do. I pat his shoulder blade, maintaining a position behind him but not entirely concealed by his bulk.

Zmey places his mug on the table and takes out a cell phone from his shirt pocket. "Well, now that you're here, we can get on with it."

He presses a button and lifts it to his ear. I quickly glance around to see if anyone has any idea about why their kitchen has become his new home office, but they all just stare back at me with worry.

"Ah, Janine."

My eyes snap back to him immediately.

He smiles at me as though this is nothing unusual. "Just a quick question. Did you know your dear Rose is not at Court but out here, running around and murdering Strigoi? Yes, just the other day I had to help her clean up a mess. In Siberia." My mind is buzzing with the implications when he adds, "Oh, no, she's staying with her husband."

I choke on air.

He continues on conversationally, though I can hear too-loud sound from the speaker from across the room. "No, quite sure, a young man by the name of Belikov." Dimitri's arms jerk. "Oh, really? Well, call back soon, I do so love hearing from you."

He hands up.

My hands are curled into claws. "How—dare—you just—my _mother_!"

"What a pity, I'd hoped we could talk for a bit longer." He puts his phone away. "Well, she's always had a temper."

"You—"

Unfortunately, that's when my phone starts ringing, and I know exactly who it is. I'm not answering her until I deal with the snake in front of me.

"What fucking right do you have to interfere in my life?" I snarl. "Why do you even care about my relationship? Enough to call my mother over it?" That's the part that honestly disturbs me the most.

"Every right," he answers calmly.

" _Fuck_ you, you old—"

Dimitri grasps my arm, holding me back. Yeva stands, pointing a scolding finger at me. "Do not be ungrateful. This is what parents do," she says condescendingly. "They try to protect their children."

"My mother does not have to be called in to protect me, and that _still_ does not give him any right to call her!"

"You do have two parents," Zmey remarks drily. He twists one hand through his…dark…hair.

He knows my mother by name.

 _I do so love hearing from you._

Fuck. Me.

"You are _not_ my father." I feel numb.

He smirks. "Hello, it's nice to meet you. I did promise not to introduce myself until you were an adult, but it took a little longer than anticipated what with you recovering from being undead and all. I figured we should do a bit of family reuniting since you're out here."

My mind cannot even comprehend anything he's said.

Dimitri's the only thing holding me up. My phone stops buzzing, then starts back up. Zmey's eyes dart to my side. "She will be utterly furious if you keep refusing to answer," he says mildly.

"You asshole," I say.

Yeva shakes her head in disappointment. The Belikova sisters are gawking at the show with wide eyes and open mouths. Olena raises her hands to the sky as though praying for mercy, or divine interference for the hysteria in her kitchen.

"Yes, yes," Zmey says, "There's a reason for all the drama, but let's just get on with it so that we can move on to business." He waves his hand carelessly.

I walk out of the kitchen.

Dimitri follows, quiet as I take out my phone and answer it in the living room. "No, I am not married," I say.

"Rosemarie Hathaway, you better not be lying to me."

"I'm not."

"Why did I get a call from your—from—"

She hesitated. "Do not tell me," I groan, "that he's telling the truth."

Her breath comes out ragged and sharp. "About?"

"Oh god. He is."

She snarls, "Damnit, Abe. What did he do—no, wait, how are you in Siberia?"

"I took vacation days! I came out here with Dimitri to meet his family." Immediately, I realize that might have been the wrong angle, when the line remains silent with tension.

I meet his eyes. We're both very emotional right now, but he sets aside his frustration with me for hiding a previous interaction with Zmey. His hand meets mine and I grip it tightly as my mother says, very quietly, "And why would you go on vacation with Guardian Belikov?"

"Because we're not married. Right now. But we're…heading that way," I admit. "In, like, three years, though, not next week," I tell them both.

She breathes heavily down the line.

"Mom," I say. "I know that you are hearing about this all the wrong way, and I was not going to keep it secret from you. I just thought it would be a better conversation to have in person. I know you're probably assuming all sorts of things—"

"Assuming, no. Going to investigate, yes."

"—and you don't need to. I will talk to you about it. But not right now, because I have a Russian mob boss claiming he's my father sitting in the Belikov's kitchen and I really need you to tell me that he's lying."

"He's not a mob boss. Not…really."

"Not helping," I grit out between my teeth.

I can picture her tugging her hair with her hands. "God, Abe," she mutters, probably not having intended for me to hear. "We talked about this. What is he thinking?"

It's been too long. "You aren't denying it."

She finally says, "No. No, I'm not."

We stand there in silence until I shakily laugh. "Well, none of this is what I expected to be doing today."

She grunts an agreement. "Look, Rose," she says, sounding weary. "I am angry at Guardian Belikov right now, so tell him to expect me to contact him at a later time." The threat implicit lies between us as she continues, "But you should see what Abe wants to talk about. We kept our relationship a secret for many reasons, and he promised he would stay out of your life until you were an adult for your safety. All I can tell you is that he is, at heart, a man who loves you, even if he is not precisely a _good_ man. And you are more than able to defend yourself, now."

"Okay." I take in her advice. "I'll talk to him. But mom, before you do or say anything else, let me talk to you about Dimitri. Please."

She must be gritting her teeth when she agrees, but she does. "Call me back later today for that conversation," she commands.

When we hang up, Dimitri pulls me into his arms. "That could have gone worse," he murmurs.

"Could have gone better," I remind him.

"We made our choice. I will take any of the consequences."

"Glad to hear it," drawls a snake's voice from the door, "because you'll be facing them. How much older than my daughter are you, again, Guardian Belikov?"

I close my eyes for a moment. "Why do you not respect any boundaries, old man?"

"We have much to discuss and little time for it," he says, swanning into the room. A colorful scarf uncurls from his throat as he drapes himself in a chair. "Time for a proper father-daughter chat."

: : :

Abe Mazur is not just a mob boss. He is an international super-spy.

"The last Dragomir is not the last, but unfortunately for that whisper to reach my ears more than one person has heard of it. This means that some who do not want Vasilisa achieving a quorum will either find the mysterious missing sibling or put a stop to the princess' life."

With that, my enemy becomes an ally.

: : :

"And did the two of you started this dalliance when Rose was—"

"Absentee fathers do not get to have this conversation. Ever."

: : :

"Rosemarie Hathaway—"

"Mom, I love him. We're not doing anything illegal. We are both adults. Sure, he was my mentor, but he is a partner and colleague now. That's what you need to care about here." In the privacy of his room, I feel confident enough to say all this and not be eyed by his sisters and mother for the side-stepping.

Only Dimitri's here, silently raising one eyebrow in notice of my half-truth.

"I will ask this only once and do not lie to me about it. Did he touch you while you were still a student?"

His eyes implore me to tell the truth. "When Victor Dashkov placed that charm on me when he attempted to kidnap Lissa, it wasn't an aggression charm. It was a lust charm." Her breathing accelerates. "That was when we figured out that our crushes were mutual, and like adults, we—"

"Are you telling me—"

"—agreed that we wouldn't do anything about it. Mom. He respects me far too much for that. You would not believe how long it took for him to stop feeling guilty about it."

His lips curl upwards in a faint smile and he murmurs, "I still do."

I point at him and make a slashing gesture across my throat.

Janine finally speaks. "So when did you change your minds about that?"

"Just around graduation." There's no need for her to know a single thing about my sex life. Even if Dimitri's clearly not satisfied with my blurring the lines on truth-telling as he listens to my side of the conversation.

"Before. Or. After."

I'm sure that she is also reviewing her own memory of the celebrations. Of Dimitri patting my shoulder at my promise mark ceremony. Of him smiling proudly at me, as I beam at him, while walking the stage to receive my diploma from his hands. Of our hug when Lissa is declared my charge. Of the after party, when I kissed his cheek and he accepted it with a slightly raised eyebrow. All had seemed innocent enough to her, of course. Until now.

"Mom."

"Rosemarie. Answer me plainly."

"We're not stupid. After."

"Clearly you are," she snaps back. "What are you thinking? You're both Guardians! He may not be your mentor anymore but that doesn't change how your relationship started. And he is—what, six? Seven years older than you?"

Knowing she would be mad hadn't really prepared me. I pace my agitation into the floor. "Will you just trust me to know what I want? What's good for me?"

"You're too young—"

"And I've lived far more than some your age, mom," I fire back. "You have seen what I survived. I fought for this life, I fought to feel anything again, and having this kind of love is more than I ever thought I'd get even before I was Strigoi! Nothing and nobody is going to make me back down on this."

The words spark the room with lightning. Across the phone line, my mother sounds like I've punched her.

"I've always loved you," she says, quietly. "And I will always want what is best for you."

"Then you have to trust that I know what that is," I tell her, my tone softening as I sense that I've made myself heard clearly enough. "You're here now, and I need you to be like this with me, but it doesn't change the way I felt. And it won't change how I feel about him."

"Put him on the phone."

"Mom."

"If I'm going to be your mother, then I have a few things I need to say to him. And they won't be demands for him to leave you," she promises. "I will trust that you are my adult daughter who knows how to protect herself in every area of life."

I hear what she's really saying. "I love you too." Then I stretch out my hand with the phone cradled in my palm.

Dimitri plucks it out of my grip without hesitation and raises it to his ear. I come in closer and he wraps his free arm around me. "Hello, Guardian Hathaway," he says. He sounds completely composed.

She can't tell that he's holding me like a teddy bear—seeking comfort and providing it in turn.

Though I do not hear what she tells him, I sense his muscles slowly contract, relax, and settle underneath his skin. His shoulders curve inward slightly. His jaw clenches, but eventually smooths.

At last, he is allowed to speak.

"I understand. All I have to say for myself is that I truly love Rose. I swore my life to be a Guardian, but I also swore to myself some time ago that I would do anything to keep her happy and safe. For as long as she wants me, for as long as she honors me with her love," he says, looking directly at me, "I will do everything in my power not to let her hurt, especially at my hand."

What a speech. My cheeks are red by the end of it.

He doesn't kiss me, though the burning in his eyes tells me that he wants to very badly. Thankfully, Janine doesn't have much to say after that: a few more courtesies and he hangs up. My phone falls to his bedside table, forgotten as his hands weave through my hair.

When we break for air, I gasp, "Is she going to kill you?"

"Only partially. I'm sure Zmey will kill me the rest of the way."

"Am I really worth all that suffering?"

"Every agonizing moment."

: : :

Alchemist Sydney is sent back to Court with us when we leave.

However the Alchemists operate, I'm pretty sure Zmey showing up on the runway with her in the car is not it. He waves theatrically at us, gestures to her, and says, "I'm sending your Queen a present. She'll be fine."

Sydney Sage does not look fine. She looks like she is hiding physical pain as she walks up the boarding ramp.

"Old man, what are you playing?" I hiss. "Alchemists don't obey Moroi."

"This one owes me a favor," he says smugly. "She'd just love to pay it off."

Dimitri makes a subtle gesture for me to stop asking, so I shake my head. "Well, bye then. I suppose I'll be hearing from you."

"Indeed you shall," he says. I'd think he was unconcerned, but I'm starting to see the outlines of his own mask. He's hiding much more emotion in there.

A twinge of regret comes to me. My farewells to the Belikova women were much more heartfelt than this: we'd hugged, laughed, made promises to see each other again soon. I was teased about a wedding date. Dimitri was scolded about his tendency to be too stoic. It was right and proper and I missed them already.

But Zmey… I want to trust him. To believe that he is, as Janine had said, a loving man who wasn't necessarily a good one. And I'd given my mom a chance.

I pull him into a hug. He is too startled to reciprocate and I let him go quickly with a back-slap that is hardly very daughter-like, but it is a step. His eyes dance brighter than his ridiculous scarf as I turn to get on the plane.

Over my shoulder, I toss, "Keep your nose out of my business unless it's to help Lissa."

"I'll try my hardest," he drawls.

On the plane, Sydney Sage has already taken a seat. I take one across from her and watch her cautiously, but she seems just as uncertain of us in her own prim and proper way.

Dimitri sits beside me like a colleague. Gone were my plans for our solo flight in a private airplane back to Court. I try not to feel too bitter about it.

The plane's in the air when I can no longer bite back my curiosity. "Hey, Ms. Sage. What's the deal with you and Zmey, anyway?" I ask bluntly.

"I owe him," she replies simply, confirming some sort of bargain between the two. "And I suppose he's holding up his end of the deal."

"How so?"

"I'm heading back to the States." She snorts. "In a way."

"Abe Mazur has enough influence with the Alchemist organization to direct one of their members to a new location?" Dimitri asks.

I'm still getting caught up on the existence of this strange human force in our world, but I know enough. That's not how Alchemists operate.

Sydney eyes us uncomfortably. "No." And she doesn't say anything more, choosing instead to focus on the window like the view is captivating.

Clouds are hardly that interesting.

We leave her be. There's no forcing anything out of her, and given her stand-offish attitude, the best thing we can probably do is be less overbearing than Abe Mazur.

I'm a little surprised that any Alchemist is willingly sitting near us—from what else I've learned, they are notoriously rude to and wary of all our kind. Very religious about it, very judgmental. I've had a run in with a couple different ones who each looked down their noses at me in a very particular way.

Sydney doesn't do that. Neither is she welcoming. Still, I already admire her guts. If she believes what those other members of her organization do, she's got a lot more class and courage to sit with creatures that she fears without letting her prejudice rule her.

Plus, she made a deal with Zmey. She's not squeaky clean. Whatever she needed that he gave her was important enough for her to make a deal with, in Alchemist terms, the devil.

That's an intriguing mystery.

But we have another one to unravel first.

: : :

The door slams into the wall as I force it open. Striding through, I yank the handle and shove it closed, where it meets his outstretched hand with a heavy thud. I keep marching, past the small kitchen and the utilitarian entry room.

I skirt the edge of the couch as his rough hand grasps my wrist.

That ignites me from a simmer to a full boil.

My skin burns as I twist my arm unceremoniously out of his reach, turning on my heel with teeth bared like a growl. "I didn't ask for—"

"No, that was obvious." He looks like a fierce warrior, with all that anger focused directly on me.

"Then get off my case!"

"Someone needs to tell you what you refuse to hear."

"And you're just the upstanding citizen to do that, are you?"

He's in my personal space, towering over me, using every inch of intimidating height and muscle to his advantage. "And you are behaving like a reckless novice again, like you've learned nothing in your year of service."

I push my shoulders back and try to peer through the red haze in my vision. "Because you have so much experience. Tell me again, Dimitri, how much older and wiser you are. It's totally relevant right now!"

My hair whips into his chest as I spin and rush toward the bedroom again. There is one thought on my mind, to seclude myself or to throw a punch, and he is testing the limits of my self-control.

Dimly, I can tell that something within me is jagged and loose. But I don't know what that means.

He follows as I stalk away, accent thickening ever further as I frustrate him. " _Ona poteryala soznaniye_ …"

"Try English, you ass!" I scream, before slamming a second door between us. This one, I lock.

He slams his fist against the door. More Russian spills out, curses that I know, and I muffle my face in my hands and scream.

The world's still tinged too darkly for me to think clearly.

Alone in our room, I pace like a caged wildcat around the edges of our bed. Over and over, feet speeding up until I am nearly tripping over myself. Around in my head circle words, things I want to say or do.

On the outside of the room, Dimitri's voice has blurred into a low hum. Occasionally it fades, in and out, like there is a switch turning the volume up and down.

My inner jagged edges start peeling away.

A faint voice inside murmurs something is wrong. It's too faint for me to pay much attention. What matters is that this emotion has nowhere to go except out through my fingertips into my scalp. That tingle spreads into a pulse and my hands tighten further around my skull.

Why does he have to be like this? Why am I the one being scolded for someone else's judgment? I should be able to stand up for myself. I should be able to tell off any Moroi who thinks they can interfere in my business, in Lissa's. She was angry, she was furious, and I feel what my best friend feels…

I feel what Lissa feels…

Something is wrong pulses that little voice inside. I tighten my fingers to silence it. The pulse turns into an ache.

I ignore it.

I ignore everything.

I return to myself when the light has changed, and the carpet under my knees has started to prickle even through my work trousers. When the knocking had long since stopped and any sounds of movement had long faded from outside of the bedroom in which I've locked myself. There had been the slam of another door at some point in there.

The jagged pieces inside of me still poke, but some storm inside me has quieted to a seething murmur. It has not passed, died out, or been tamed, but I have regained enough of myself to realize that I need to stand up.

Slowly, I peel my hands away from my head. There is a sticking sensation and a jolt of pain. Looking at my hands, I am almost not surprised to see rusty red has dried on my nails and fingers.

The faucet squeaks as I turn on the gentle flow of water. It warms quickly and is redirected to the shower head. Then I peel off my clothes and get inside, sinking to the bottom of the tub. The water pours down over my head and curled body, awkwardly heaped in the tub.

Stinging erupts on my scalp as the water runs down.

A boiling mass of darkness is curled up inside of me and I do not know what to do next with it. The last time I felt this out of control, I'd almost killed Jesse Zeklos at the Academy. This is worse, though: I hadn't taken a particularly large amount of Lissa's darkness today. Just a little.

Just enough to tip me over.

Through the bond, I tentatively brushes at Lissa. I wanted to draw back right away. She felt worried and disappointed. Her constant uncertainty about a possible mysterious sibling had been the norm, but that wasn't what she was thinking about.

Satisfied that she was at least okay, I pulled back into myself. There was a lot to deal with in my own lonely head.

Such as the fact that Dimitri and I did not get into a fight because of my Spirit-darkness instability. Given that he had left, he was still unaware of just what had happened. No, what got us at each other's throats was a nosy Moroi who said one too many suggestive things, who set Lissa off, and who then had to deal with my out-of-control temper.

Things like, dhampir having no right to have relationships. She was talking about some other rumored couple, one who'd given up his Guardian position—because, more than a year later, Dimitri and I are still a secret.

Except for our close friends and respective family members, no one knows. And maybe that is bothering me more every day.

Regardless, my best friend jumped into the fray. That particular royal hadn't paid any attention to Princess Dragomir's Guardian until I'd lost my temper.

Christian and Dimitri broke up the conversation, each dragging us away from the interloper. But I, of course, had not calmed down, so Lissa had released me for the rest of the evening. I had stomped my way off duty like a petulant child. Dimitri had followed not too long after.

The fighting carried us all the way up here, and clearly had sent him right back out.

I wonder where he ended up as I start scrubbing away the blood from my hands. We're passionate people: we argue our fair share. Sometimes he takes himself out of the picture to cool down. Often, one or both of us ends up in the gym.

This wasn't a normal fight, though. The darkness is still clawing at my insides. My fear of many years amplifies it, the possibility that I will lose my mind to this bond. I feel hollow, exhausted, in a bad way.

It's all I can do to turn off the water and drape a towel around myself. The path back to the bed seems too far away to walk.

I crawl.

My arms tremble as I pull myself up and into the bed, leaving the damp towel on the floor. Shivers are taking over as I curl into the sheets, compacting my body to my side of our bed. Curling up.

Sound fades away for a while.

My body feels paralyzed after a while, cocooned by the darkness. It strips each of my muscles of whatever strength remains. I sink.

I sink into a dream that feels like I am merely paralyzed and weary.

In this dream, there are sounds. A door opens and closes outside this room. Footsteps. A gentle rattle of the doorknob to our bedroom, a faint sigh. My dreams have returned Dimitri to me.

"I'd like to speak to you, Rose. Please come out," comes his voice, filtering through wood.

Usually, I do. As angry as we get with each other, after one or both of us has had our space, we let each other back in. That is, if we're awake. The world is too shaky and unreal for this to be more than a dream, though.

Dream-Dimitri pleas once more before a thread of nerves winds its way through his voice. He responds like I'd expect him to: "Be as angry as you want, Roza, but speak, _seychas_ , or I am creatively unlocking this door." Our code for picking the lock.

Following this announcement, there is eventually a door-hinge squeak. My dream-bed dips moments later, and ghostly touches trace my cheek, a slightly-chilled hand lying on my pillow, my hair. The touch pauses in my hair, parts the strands, grazes the skin and sparks a flicker of pain.

Another sigh. "Oh, my Roza. Not again." Sadness echoes in every syllable.

Why this is what jolts me out of my doze, I don't know. But the sound of his sadness is what drags me, aching, out from under the weight of my paralysis.

My eyelids shift first. They part slowly, demanding every bit of my attention. Next comes my mouth, which parts to whisper, "Dimitri."

His eyes are heavy and his jaw is still clenched. He looks different now that the anger has abated: cautious. "I'm sorry to wake you."

I don't want to explain, but I must. "No. I just…can't move." It's hard to stay focused on him: my eyes fall to the wall, in my direct line of sight from where my head rests on a pillow. "It's dark right now."

The sun is bright out, vampire midnight.

He knows what I mean instantly. One large hand cups my cheek. "Is that what was driving you?"

"It wasn't normal anger," I tell him. "It was me, but…more than me. I think. I took. Lissa was mad. She shouldn't have gotten involved. I wanted her to stop."

The broken explanation seems to be enough. "I am so sorry I didn't realize—"

"No," I moan, letting my eyes shutter closed. "Please, don't. You don't have to always know—"

"This, I need to know. Because it changes you, it makes you react differently, and—"

"You're allowed to fight with me," I interrupt his guilt-trip. "To be angry at me."

His fingers caress my cheek. "We will discuss this later. You are not well right now. Is it still affecting you?"

"Why can't I just be normal-angry and have a normal fight with my boyfriend?"

I don't expect him to actually answer, but he does anyway. "While I cannot answer that, I do know that you have overcome the darkness before and will continue to do so. And that there is nothing wrong with needing to deal with it like this for a little while."

With that, he lies down and curves his body around mine. In his protective embrace, the battering darkness does not feel as all-consuming.

It does not fade, but neither does it take over again that night.

: : :


	4. Part Four and Bonus Material

**Disclaimer** : I own nothing of this series.

::::

Part Four

::::

Snow swirled up around my jack-rabbit feet. Jumping over the first step, I bound through the front door and into the living room with a wild cackle. A fistful of frost is clumped in my hands.

Dimitri roars in surprise when it slides down the back of his shirt. He'd been too distracted by Christian to realize that my joyful sounds meant bad news for his proper demeanor.

Lissa's bemusement wafts through the bond as I dart back out of the cabin, cutting through Eddie's snow-fort architecture, under Mia's outstretched hands, around wide-eyed Jill, and through Adrian and Sydney's intense strategy planning. My friends alternately laugh or roll their eyes as I pass.

Heavy Russian feet are in pursuit, so I take off through the trees.

Back in the cabin, my mother and father are probably exasperated. My friends will probably congregate inside again for hot chocolate, soon. We'll join them when we get back.

No one will begrudge us a moment alone.

I smirk as I lead the way to a clearing that I scoped out earlier—big enough for a spar, should he be in that mood once he caught up. My feet break the ring of the clearing just as he catches up to me.

Yes, he is in a playful mood.

Several bold grappling moves, almost-defeats, and flips later, I laugh breathlessly on the snowy ground as he pins my arms above my head. "Worth it!"

"I did not appreciate that," he growls down, dancing eyes betraying his true feelings.

"Aw, did losing your badass poise really hurt that badly?"

He drops a handful of snow on my face in response.

Laughing it away, I relax under his dominating grip. Being pinned doesn't make me feel uncomfortable. His expression is attentively under the teasing, watchful of our surroundings and my own subtle reactions.

I feel the world spinning brightly around us, feeling lighter than I have in a long time. Lissa's experimental healing a few days earlier had let me loose. Mark and Oksana had been so helpful. I intend to enjoy every moment before the darkness begins to build up again. And I do so knowing that Lissa can help clear it, as long as I take care to let her know when I need help.

Dimitri has also been keeping an eye on me. Just like now, when he knows to sit up and pull me into his lap as my giggles calm.

We are eye to eye in the gentle flurry of falling snow. On the icy ground, legs numb, I feel more whole than I have in ages.

Through the bond, Lissa's discomfort as she struggles to forge a relationship with Jill is a distant tug. Acknowledging it, I set aside the bond because she doesn't need me right now. She'll figure out how to form a relationship with her sister on her own time.

What I want to do right now, contrary to every ingrained Guardian lesson, is keep my attention on Dimitri. As our relationship became undeniable in every subconscious movement, as keeping ourselves a secret became harder to bear, as our friends became overtly declarative of their support…things have changed.

The Court is a structured place of rules, traditions, and formalities. But Lissa has shaken it up with her ascension to the throne in the midst of intrigue, scandal, betrayal, and conflict. Under her reign, the old ways are changing.

And those who are young, like us, are the front-runners of change.

I press one gloved hand to his cheek as our gaze holds. Under my hand is a faint scar on his jaw, one that had bleed widely and long. We'd almost been torn apart. We'd almost lost each other.

That's what drove us, in the end. To maintain our equilibrium in the Court, secrecy kept us safe. Now, shaking up foundation also meant secrecy could not last.

I find that I am okay with carving out this space for us, today, because we have been carving it out in our lives for the past months in the world outside this small vacation retreat.

"What heavy thoughts, moya serdtse?" He cups my cheeks with his hands.

"Not heavy. Many," I tell him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He pulls me closer. "This is nice. Being out here, away from Court."

"As much as our work fulfills me, I agree. The air is less stifling here. Taking a break from Court was welcome and much-needed."

I nod and play with the ends of his hair, where it is bound back from his face. "It's been a long time since we had any kind of break. Do you want to travel to Baia again, sometime? I'm always happy to see my parents, but…."

"Everyone would be delighted to see us," he replies. "My mother wants you to call her back, by the way. Zoya is wanting to hear her _tyotya_ Roza's latest story."

I laugh, stomach swooping in a brief rush of nerves. Honestly, I love that his family already claims me as daughter-sister-aunt, depending on who speaks. But I react from long-held habit and nerves when I say, "Of course I'll tell her a story, but you should correct her, you know."

"Correct her?"

"I'm not _tyotya_ , Dimitri. I'm just your Roza." I press our lips together once, chastely.

He chases me for a moment, deepening the kiss with a coaxing tenderness that has me distracted when he pulls away. "Or perhaps we should make her correct."

I knew it. He likes to work this into conversations. "And you already know—"

"I do. But, the age you specified is coming—"

"Soon. Not yet."

"Is that a promise?"

I scowled at him. "I'm not marrying you when I'm still technically a teen."

"Every time you say that…" He shakes his head and sighs. I'd feel guilty if not for the fact that I'm banking on him giving up his line of questioning. It rarely works.

This is not one of the times it works.

But as he tilts my head up with his thumbs, I realize that there's something deeper in the intent behind his asking. Usually there is a hint of playfulness. Today, there's intensity only.

"If you were to be asked today, asked and reminded that engagements can last for some time—if I were to ask you to be a _nevesta_ , be my zhena, would you tell me that eventually, you would say yes to marrying me?"

My throat feels completely dry. "Is this the romantic proposal?" I quip weakly.

"Roza." His eyes burn into mine, seeking something.

I don't know what to give him, what he wants, what he hopes to find… We've had this conversation so many times, and each time he lets us drop the topic. Each time, he lets me skirt the issue with uncharacteristic paranoia.

He's asking me in a different way than usual. This is not a wheedling or a barter, an attempt to gain my acceptance or a statement of his case. No romantic declaration of how much he loves me to convince me that he speaks from the heart and wants to be my husband.

It is simply this: do we have a chance at being married at all?

And I find, that once my initial shock has passed, that is all too easy to answer. "If you were to ask…"

I have to swallow hard before I can complete the thought.

"I told you before that there will never be a time in my life that I don't need you. If you were to ask, eventually, I would not want us separated in any way that we couldn't fix or change."

Dazzling emotion spills over from his eyes to his face. "So, eventually, you would…?"

"Someday, I will marry you. Just not for a long time!" I add hastily. "Like, let me be a real adult, first!"

He's already laughing at my protests. "You are already an adult. You've been more mature and grown than any your age for a long time, Roza. My Roza." Those wide thumbs stroke my cheeks again.

Out in the snow, I smile back at him feeling lighter than ever. We are grinning like loons at each other and I find that I simply don't care.

The daylight peeks out to warm us.

::::

 **Bonus Material**

Playlist

"We Live Underground" by Lights On

"Cheap Thrills" by Sia

"Castle" by Halsey

"What's Wrong With Me?" by Skye

"Show Me How to Live" by Audioslave

"Lights Go Out" by Client

"Please Forgive Me" by David Gray

"Blue Pool" by Vanessa Carlton

"Lluvia" by Federico Aubele

"Better Days" by the Goo Goo Dolls

::::


End file.
